


Shadow of the Night

by aTasteofCaramell



Series: Rediscover the Dawn [1]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel (Movies), Norse Mythology, The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, But He Isn't Evil Either, Friendships of Mutual Distrust, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, In which I cherry-pick the parts I want from the Marvel movie!verse comic!verse and Norse Mythology, Kid Loki, Kid Thor, Loki Isn't "Misunderstood", Mild Descriptions of Magic-Induced Violence, Occasional Mild Language, Odin's Good Parenting, Post Avengers (Movie), Protective Thor, Teen Loki, Teen Thor, Thor isn't stupid, Warning: there may or may not be a major character death, and completely make up the rest out of my own head, brief mentions of sex, it'll give you a horror-induced heart attack, so if you're a purist of any sort don't read this:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 21:39:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 154,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aTasteofCaramell/pseuds/aTasteofCaramell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dear Thor,<br/>It is now time for you to come and collect whatever is left of me. I do hope it is a great deal, because otherwise it would be rather painful, but I cannot promise anything. Be warned, the longer you wait, the less of me there will be, if there is anything at all.<br/>Please hurry, Brother; I am where I always am.<br/>~Loki<br/>------------------------------------<br/>The Avengers have won and Loki is imprisoned. But the Silvertongue is hiding a secret. Something else is coming, and even he does not realize the full extent of the consequences that his actions have unleashed on the Realms.</p><p>(For those who care, I now have an email address (atasteofcaramell at gmail dot com) and a Twitter account where I will post writing progresses on all fics, but especially on the next installment of Rediscover (twitter.com/tasteofcaramell).)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fight

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic, so if you see any glaring errors in my attempts to fit into the fanfiction culture—misusing fanfiction terms, tags, and the like—please let me know. I'm open to constructive criticism If you feel so inclined to give! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy.  
> ~caramell

They stood at the edge of the shattered bridge, at the entrance to what had been his home for hundreds of years, and Loki Laufeyson was afraid. 

Heimdall’s gaze met his, briefly. Loki kept his face masked, staring back with defiance and indifference. 

“Welcome home, my prince,” Heimdall said. To Thor, of course. Always to Thor.

“It is good to be home, Heimdall,” answered Thor, and then added with unnecessary emphasis, “With my brother.”

Loki wanted to scream. To curse, protest, and let known his rage. The metal gag set around his mouth silenced any sound, even in his throat. Its edges bit into his skin, drawing blood if he so much as twitched his lips. He could not stand to be deprived of his voice for long. He would go mad. He had depended on his words since he was a youngling to defend himself, and keep himself—and whomever he desired—out of trouble. It was his words and his magic that kept bullies and monsters at bay. Now the gag, and the chains binding him, kept both from him. He was being drained. 

Thor started walking down the Bifrost. Loki forced himself to keep up. Fear and resentment wanted to keep his feet rooted to the bridge, but his desperation kept his fingers locked around his end of the device which contained the Tesseract.

The Tesseract. Loki would not let go. He needed it. He could summon magic. He could. He would. It was in him, he could feel it, but the chains would not allow him any mastery. It kept the energy locked up inside him, like a child sulking in a corner and dodging just out of his grasp. The chains were temporary. Left on too long, and the sorcerer would become an empty shell, or killed. Both the muzzle and the chains were customary when transporting a magic prisoner.

 _They will not last._ He told himself. _They will not last._

Loki brought his tongue between his teeth. “Th--” he was strangled, and Thor could not hear and did not notice. To be freed from this blasted restraint! He only needed his words. He could speak to Thor, make him see—

Once they came to the Allfather it would be too late. Thor was the only one who would listen. Thor was the only one he could twist into reason. Thor would not allow Loki to be at the mercy of the Chitauri. Thor would see to it that he had some defense left.

He had to struggle. Break loose. He could dive from the precipice again. Teleport elsewhere. 

He was weakening. The chains were bad enough, but the traveling by Tesseract was even more draining, and mere hours ago Loki had been shot by multiple weapons, fought Thor, caught an explosive arrow, and been slammed into the ground by the “Hulk”. Loki did not have the strength to break the chains, much less get away from Thor. And he didn’t want to be carried into the Allfather’s presence. Loki gritted his teeth.

He was a villain. A war criminal. A Jotun warrior. 

He would carry himself as such.

Thor walked quickly. Loki straightened and did as well, keeping up, showing no weakness, as they entered Asgard. The Bifrost lead a direct path to the palace, but they still passed people. They stared, murmured, excited, curious, afraid. Thor ignored them. Loki did not. He made eye contact with several, never breaking his stride. He could not smile with his mouth, but he did with his eyes, and relished in how quickly they turned away. 

It gave him an idea. His eyes. If he could get Thor to look at him…

They entered the palace and were greeted by regal guards.

“The Allfather asks that you wait here,” they informed Thor. “There is to be a public gathering.”

Public. Of course. The Allfather and Thor were much alike. Always in need of a show.

Loki waited until the guards returned to their posts, and then tugged gently on the Tesseract. Thor, still holding the other end, turned his head to look at him, and Loki was struck by how…sad he looked. Depressed, despondent.

Loki cleared his head of the shock and looked pleadingly at him.

Thor sighed and shook his head. “There is nothing I can do, Brother.”

 _Brother._ Loki’s fingers tightened around the Tesseract. Thor noticed. 

“You can let go of this now, Brother.” Thor put one hand over Loki’s and gently, but firmly, pulled the Tesseract out of his grasp. He could have held on. But his strength was still draining. He had to choose his battles. Loki swallowed and put out one hand, hesitantly, his fingers brushing Thor’s shoulder. He said words in his mind, willing them to come out through his eyes, searching Thor’s face.

_Thor…Brother…please…_

Thor copied the gesture, placing his hand on Loki’s shoulder. “Do not be frightened, Loki. I will see to it that Father is not harsh.”

Thor could no more stop the Allfather being harsh than he could stop Midgard’s petty wars. Loki shook his head jerkily, drawing his hand back. He touched the Tesseract, still gazing into Thor’s face. Thor pulled it back.

“Such power is too great for one man to yield, even one of us, Brother.”

Loki shook his head again.

_You thrice-damned fool! That is not what I want!_

He struggled to keep his anger at bay, glancing away until it faded enough to keep it from his eyes. Then he looked back, shaking his head again, touching the muzzle.

“You wish me to remove the mouthpiece?” 

_Yes, of course, cretin!_

Loki nodded rapidly. 

“I cannot do that. Something troubles you. When the mouthpiece is removed, you may tell it to Father. I am sure you may see him in private soon enough, if that is what you desire.”

Loki resisted the urge to strike him. That was what he could not do. If he told the Allfather of the Chitauri’s threat, he would see it as a fitting punishment for Loki to live the fulfillment of his actions. 

Time was running out. Loki once again put out a trembling hand, resting it against Thor’s chest, still grasping at the gag. Loki filled his eyes with tears.

_Brother, please._

Thor took his hand and gazed at him, doing nothing. The doors at the end of the hall swung open. Real panic banished the tears as time slid away, guards marching down towards them.

_Brother, please!_

Thor swung his arm up, grasping Loki at the nape of his neck and giving him what he probably meant to be an encouraging smile.

“Be strong, Brother.”

_Be strong--!_

Thor knew nothing of strength. Loki jerked back, furious, and not trying to hide it. His vision darkened and the world whirled. The muzzle dug into his scowling lips and blood seeped along the edges of the metal, both inside and out. A thin stream of blood trickled down over his mouth. He knocked Thor’s hand away and stood stiffly, waiting for fate to come. 

ɤ

The last time he had seen the throne room filled this way had been at Thor’s would-have-been coronation. The Allfather sat in the throne, and everyone’s eyes turned towards Loki and Thor as they walked down the isle of people. This vast room could be either majestic, or the belly of a beast. Loki felt the enormity of it like he had not before. 

Fear turned into a churning knot in his stomach, his legs trembling so that they could hardly hold him, weakened from the chains and fear. He hardly noticed the people. He couldn’t care less that they watched him. 

They stopped a few yards away. Loki kept his gaze fixed on the stairs before Odin’s throne. Thor nudged his shoulder, and his weakened state did not resist the urge to kneel. His knees hit the ground in the same moment, hard. Pain jerked up his legs. Loki did not look up.

Odin struck Gungnir against the ground thrice, and then stood. From some signal Loki did not see, a guard stepped forward and yanked at the gag. It cut into him again, causing more blood to spurt and run into his mouth, but then—it lifted away. Was gone.

Freed.

Loki opened his mouth and breathed in, closing his eyes, relishing the taste of free air, mixed as it was with the taste of his own blood. Suddenly, his pathetic, feeble state did not matter. New strength flooded into him, banishing any remnants of fear. 

He had his words.

 _Thank the Norns._

Loki licked his lips once, and then looked up into Odin’s face and smiled. “I see you have not lost your talent for speedily orchestrating well-attended gatherings, Allfather.” His voice, almost rusty at first, soon cleared. “I praise your continued aptitude.” 

“Loki.” Odin looked down on him with the same regal, yet sorrowful, expression that Loki had seen on his face so many times before. It stung. Loki noticed how Odin omitted any last name. 

_That is me. Loki Nobody’s-son._

Odin continued, the formality strange—the same words used whenever the Allfather confronted a criminal. “You have been brought here in the presence of Asgard to begin to answer for the crimes you have committed against Asgard, Midgard, and Jotunheim. You have manipulated your way to power in Asgard, threatened the utter destruction of a peaceful realm, made alliances with the enemies of Asgard, and used these alliances to slaughter and attempt to subjugate the people of Midgard, where you have no authority. Your actions have led to a renewed war between Asgard and Jotunheim, which has caused bloodshed and new widows and orphans already.”

“You seem to have forgotten, Allfather, that I am not of Asgard,” Loki interrupted, “Thus Asgard’s enemies need not be my own.” 

Anger broke out in the people.

Odin thumped Gungnir to the ground again, the sound ringing out in the hall. “Silence.” he commanded. He waited until order was restored, and then spoke in a low, firm voice. “You fall under the jurisdiction of Asgard, and so to all in the Nine Realms and beyond, you are of Asgard!” Loki would have spoken again, but Odin did not give him the chance. “Thus your crimes stand. Do you continue to deny them?”

Frustration and anger filled Loki. Nobody in the universe ever listened. 

_Odin…Father…why do you never listen?_

He hated the Allfather. Hated Thor. Hated these people. They were repulsed by him, and he by them. Always, he had been slighted. Continually distrusted. Ever had he been the weakling, relying on tricks instead of brute force. Relying on his silver tongue. 

Well, he had his silver tongue again. Let them despise him. He would use it. He would stir up their hatred until it burned and exploded and attempts were made on his life. He wanted them to hate him.

He wanted to deserve their hate.

 Loki looked back at Odin, indifference and defiance painted across his face. “It appears that it hardly matters whether I deny them or no,” he said simply.

“Do you deny them?” Odin repeated. 

“No.”

“You have the chance to speak for yourself, and your misdeeds,” Odin said. “Tell Asgard the reasons behind your offenses.”

Tell them? He had told them. He had been telling them for ages. If they did not understand now, they never would. Loki’s eyes snapped. 

“I am a villain,” he said. He felt no surprise in the crowd from his comment. Of course not. They had believed this for years. “I do not need a reason.”

“Everyone has a reason, even if they do not realize it,” said Odin. “This is your one opportunity to voice your defense.”

_Well said, Allfather._

“On Midgard,” Loki said at last, glancing to the side at the people. Nausea rolled in his stomach. “They have names for us. They call Thor the God of Thunder,” he paused, allowing his face to relax and the corners of his mouth to turn upwards. “They call me the God of Mischief; an agent of chaos. It is in my nature.” He stopped again. Odin did not take the bait, but Thor did, speaking over the anger rippling through the crowd.

“Do not mock these people’s pain, Loki!” he cried, distraught, “You have full control over your actions, just as I have full control over Mjolnir and storms!”

Odin cut Thor off with a look and a gesture.

“I would not dream of it, Odinson,” Loki purred, relishing the hurt look Thor gave him at the distancing formality. A wave of exhaustion washed over him, and his muscles trembled in fatigue. He blinked hard and raised his voice, quieting the people again. “You mistake my meaning. I acknowledge I had full control over my deeds. I did not do these things because I ‘had’ to.” Loki paused again, looking to the people. “I am the God of Mischief and Chaos,” he repeated. Without turning his head, he slid his gaze back to Odin. His voice lowered into a hiss. “I did them for fun.”

Then things really did erupt. People shouted, Odin commanded, but Loki could not understand any of them. He felt himself swaying on his knees, dizzy and sick. Even his neck no longer felt strong enough to support his head, and he found himself staring at the floor.

 _Oh, dear,_ was his last thought. _I really am about done in._

He pitched forward.

ɤ

When Loki awoke, he did not open his eyes. Out of long habit, he waited and listened, determining what he could about his surroundings. He had eavesdropped on many a conversation, and picked up many a useful fact this way. Once, he had avoided torture and had escaped enemy hands by not showing he was awake. It had ended and his and Thor’s escape, though of course his own part in concealing them from enemy eyes for most of the way did not make it into the stories. 

Loki examined himself. He felt stronger, and no longer exhausted, though there seemed to be a strange weight pressing down on him. Silence prevailed, and he opened his eyes, staring up at the creamy untarnished ceiling. He sat up, a thin blanket falling from his shoulders and rumpling against his legs on the cot. The movement was difficult, the strange weight not dissipating—perhaps he was still tired. The cell was a ten-by-ten square, with a small enclosed space in which to relieve himself. The cot was small—if he straightened out, his feet hung off the edge—and one wall of the cell was made of a clear substance that looked like glass. A clear bright light illuminated the room. 

Thor sat on the other side of the glass, slouching in the chair with his chin on his chest. Loki gave an exasperated sigh. Never a moment alone. He slid his legs out from underneath the blankets and changed to a sitting position, with his feet flat on the floor, and leaned back against the wall with his arms crossed. He was stronger, though still a little tired. Out of habit, he reached for his magic, and didn’t find it. The room was different from the chains—it reacted against his magic, it didn’t suppress it. He could feel it swirling inside of him, unreachable. It felt uncomfortable—rather like being naked in front of a crowd, or being unable to remember something important. 

“I suppose,” Loki said aloud, still relishing the ability to use his voice, and still tasting blood on his lips, “The sooner you awaken, the sooner you will leave me in peace.” 

Thor stirred and looked up. “Brother!” he jumped to his feet. “You are awake!” his voice had a metallic note to it, the affects of being spoken through the “glass”, but it was clear. Thor put a hand on the glass, peering in at him. “Are you all right? The restraints did not hurt you, did they? You had me worried.”

“I am quite all right,” said Loki, still with his arms crossed. He glanced around the room, noting a faucet and dish in one corner. “I see I have been given the luxury cell.”

His sarcasm was lost on Thor, who nodded. “You are a prince of Asgard, Loki.”

“Indeed.” Loki closed his eyes, “I don’t suppose you noticed how the Allfather omitted my last name?”

Thor didn’t answer.

Loki smiled. “I thought not.”

“You are his son,” Thor said slowly. “The formality was not needed.”

“Yet formality for your coronation was.” 

“That is not the same thing.”

Loki didn’t press the matter. He’d made his point. “Are you here to lecture me about my answer to the Allfather?”

Thor’s clothes rustled as he shifted. “No. But I do wonder what the truth is.”

“Because, naturally, you can never take the Liesmith’s first word.” 

“Anything…serious you do, Loki, you do for a reason. You might not say it, and you almost always laugh, but even when we were children, if you played a trick that hurt me, it was always because I had hurt you first.”

“What if this is not ‘serious’? What if I think it one of my playful tricks?”

“That is not possible.”

“Is it not?”

“No.”

Loki opened his eyes and glared at him. “Tell me, Thor, as a child, when I caused the fire to leap at you and it caught on your clothing, did I tell you the reason for that?”

“You did not need to.” Thor looked back without flinching. “It was because I had gone out play-hunting with Sif and the Warriors, and none of us asked you if you wished to go.”

Interesting that Thor remembered it. It was a small incident among a thousand. “Very good.” Loki smiled as if congratulating a particularly slow pupil. “When I did a thousand other things to you for a reason, did I have to tell you what those reasons were?”

Even Thor could see where this was going. He frowned. “No.”

“Then you decide if this is mere recreational trickery or no.” 

“You have changed, Loki,” Thor almost pleaded, leaning forward with his face almost touching the glass, the phrase both an excuse for his not knowing, and a cry of sorrow.

“Yes, I have,” said Loki, biting off the end of each word. “Now tell me the reason for that.” 

Thor looked down at the floor. Loki breathed deeply, regaining control of himself, and then spread his hands, smiling again. “So, dearest Thor, what is to be done with me?”

“No decision has been reached,” said Thor, looking away. Then, abruptly, “The mortals are requesting my presence on Asgard. Father says the decision is up to me.”

To clean up Loki’s mess, no doubt. “So go,” he said, folding his arms and closing his eyes again. “You love the mortals.” He let scorn ooze into his voice. “What keeps you?”

The question was rhetorical, but Thor answered instantly. “You, Loki. I do not wish to leave you.”

Loki opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow. “Do not be absurd, Thor.” 

“I am sincere,” said Thor, firmly.

“I know. You are incapable of insincerity. You haven’t the brain for it.”

“Perhaps not.” Mjolnir changed hands, while Thor shifted his weight. “I do not like to leave you here alone.”

Black amusement exploded within him, and Loki burst into wild laughter. Thor jumped, startled. 

“Brother?”

Loki didn’t control himself. He slid sideways until he fell onto his back on the cot, his limbs hanging off the sides, laughing like he hadn’t in years.

“Thor!” he shouted at last, shoving the words in between severe fits, sides aching, “Thor, when--have I-- ever minded being--alone?” Loki calmed a little, still chuckling and grinning. “I have been—alone--since childhood. I am conditioned to be alone! ‘Alone’ is where I always am!”

“How can you say that?” Thor stared at him, Mjolnir dangling loosely, and then his whole fist tightening around it. 

Loki pushed himself up and stood, straightening his rumpled clothing—it had been changed to a simple outfit of black trousers and green shirt (from his own wardrobe, doubtless)—and stalked over to the faucet. His body still felt strangely weighted. “How can I say that?” he sat down cross-legged on the ground and picked up the bowl. For the first time in this interview, his tone was thoughtful, and not vicious. “It is true, Brother. Do not let it trouble you. It troubles me not.” Loki did not know if that was a lie or not. He turned on the spigot and filled the bowl with water. He drank while looking at Thor over the rim. Only at Thor’s relieved expression—which he tried and failed to cover—did Loki realize what he’d said.

_Damn it._

Laughing had let Loki’s guard down, and he’d forgotten himself. He did not let Thor see his disgust however, and smiled a little.

“Even I can see where your heart is, Thor,” he said, lowering the dish. “And I am not a child. Go to Midgard.”

“I will return to see you—and I will not be cut off from Asgard’s affairs--”

“Of course not,” Loki interrupted, beginning to get impatient. “What kind of crown prince would you be if you were?” 

Thor nodded, looked down, tapped Mjolnir against his leg, looked up. “Fare you well then, Loki.” Loki bowed his head in acknowledgement, still holding the bowl in his hands. “I will return to stay with you through any hardship that is put upon you.”

What Thor meant was, he would stay with Loki through his punishments. Loki wanted to say, ‘That is quite impossible. I assume you want to stay on Midgard for more than a day at a stretch?’ but Thor would either argue with that statement, or rush to console him—depending on which voice Loki used to say it—and Loki did not have the patience to deal with him any longer. So instead he merely stated, “Thank you, Thor.”

“Farewell.”

Loki gave Thor a good two minutes to exit before he set down the bowl with a clunk and let out a relieved sigh. He rubbed his eyes and stood, taking a full tour of the cell, searching for any weakness. It was still difficult to move. He found none, of course, besides running his hands along the glass until he felt a disturbance where the door must be. He fingered the door-area for a while before giving up and going to sit on his cot, where he tried to reach his magic. Which, again, he could not. Frustration built up in him. It was like trying to grasp reflections in pools of water. 

Suddenly dizzy, Loki pressed his hands to his face. There was a pressure behind his eyes, a suffocation in his head, that wasn’t a part of mere exhaustion. It was the magic in the room, reacting against his attempt to use his. Pressing against him. That was why he felt so heavy. Loki sighed. Another thing to get used to. Loki looked up to see an attendant at the glass, holding a tray of food. 

“Enter,” Loki spoke, unsure if they waited for his permission or not. The servant obeyed, setting the tray on the floor before him, and retreating without a word. Loki picked up the food, looking at the piles with some distaste. Even for prisoner portions, it was too much. He had never eaten much, and lately he took to eating even less. He simply had no appetite. Loki ate some of what was on the tray, and then took to trying to manipulate the food with magic until the servant appeared to take the tray away again. Loki masked his relief and tried to not admit to himself that he was really feeling quite sick, and he had a horrible headache.

Admitting defeat, at least for today, Loki slept.

ɤ

_As if waking from a long sleep, Loki landed and staggered, falling to his knees and automatically casting himself invisible. He crouched there, trembling, confusion whirling in his mind. He struggled to remember what had happened to him. His mind felt numb._

_He’d let go. Fallen. But what…?_

_Pain wracked through him, gathering in his throat and cutting off his breath. Injustice. Injustice. Thor, Fa—the Allfather, even Frigga. That look she’d given him…_

_Why did everything he touch seem somehow to go wrong? Why were his actions never enough?_

_No, he knew the answer to those questions._

I am a monster.

_Loki choked and a whimper tore out of him. The only ones he might call friends betrayed him even as king, Thor, in his idiocy, turned against him, Frigga joined her eldest, Odin denied Loki—and now the universe couldn’t even kill him properly? Loki’s hands tightened into fists, and his whimpering changed into a growl as the choking lumps turned into bitter, hot liquid._

Sentiment.

_Where was he? He looked around at the ugly stone and metal architecture and—he recognized that man. One of the humans Thor had been with. Midgard. Loki got to his feet and followed him, half-intending to kill him, the instigator of pain. He wrapped his arms around himself, denying the trembling in his legs, and the itching in his memory that wanted to remember his fall. How he’d gotten here. He still felt as though he had been asleep._

_Tired. So tired._

_The Midgardian spoke to another human, about legends and science. The dark one snapped open a case, and Loki’s breath left him. An immeasurable wave of energy emanated from that thing, that blue cube. So much that it chased away all former thoughts in him. He came forward, feeling the power, feeling the magic, surge out of it, replenishing his own. He mentally grabbed at it, desperately. Just from being near to it was enough to make his own power surge, and he felt a tickling of something he hadn’t before, a new channel opened—of suggestion. He felt a smile come onto his face, and he tried something new._

_“Well I guess that’s worth a look,” he whispered. Selvig repeated him, and Loki grinned, as the pain inside of him slowly dissipated. He reached forward to touch the cube. The power surged, a gaping hole opened, and the room disappeared._

ɤ

Loki leaned against a wall, staring at his hands. The silent, empty days gnawed at him, passing with no change in his surroundings. He recited aloud long-studied pages from his magic books, pages he could see in his mind’s eye, desperate to fill the monotony. 

“You have a wonderful memory, my son.”

The words triggered a lonely warmth within him. Loki glanced at Frigga, where she stood behind the glass, and his lip curled.

“Well,” he lowered his hands. “You never can be certain when you will be kept in confinement with no occupation but what your own mind can conjure. Some of us like to be prepared.”

Frigga clasped her hands in front of her, her shining hair and elegant gown looking extremely out of place, while she herself seemed at ease. “I would hope that you would not think to prepare for such an unlikely thing.”

“Not unlikely,” said Loki. “Everyone saw it coming, my Queen.”

Frigga raised her chin. “I did not.”

Loki smiled, twisted. “Everyone unbounded by self-inflicted maternal instincts, then.”

Frigga pressed her fingers against the glass. “Thor was right. You are changed.” She lowered her eyes, and new diamonds glistened in them, matching the jewels in her hair. “But, Loki, my instincts are not self-inflicted.” She raised her eyes again. “You are my son.”

Loki stepped forward, slowly, gaze fastened on Frigga’s palm, his heart in his throat. He put out his hand and matched hers, fingertip to finger tip, against the glass. The glass vibrated slightly, and Loki felt a counterfeit warmth. He dipped his head forward until his eyes were level with Frigga’s. He stared at the woman had once loved, still loved, even when all else had fallen apart. Desperation build inside of him. He was going to break. 

Then his words saved him. His silver tongue. He spoke, forcing the words out from a guttural place deep in his throat.

“Your son,” he paused, and then clenched his teeth. “ _Never existed._ ”

Her eyes became tearful again. “No, Loki--”

He gained momentum. The weakness was gone. He wanted to hurt her. His tongue, slick and practiced, jumped to obey him. “Your son,” he continued, “Was a lie. He was built on lies. Raised by lies. Nourished by lies. Lies that you fed and encouraged until they grew and became inflated. Until at last they cracked and split open. And when your son tried to grasp them, they turned to ash between his fingers, while you stood by. While you did nothing, he hung from a shattered bridge and the lie _died_.”

She was listening. For the first time in her life, she was listening. The tears trickled out now, but she did not cry out, and her lips did not tremble. “The fall killed him?” she asked, peering into his face as if trying to read him. As if he were a stranger.

“No,” said Loki. “Just words. Words fed to him from childhood. Words that made him believe the lies. Only words. Mere words.” Loki clenched his hand into a fist against the glass. “Your son was dead before he fell.”

“Loki,” Frigga managed. “Does blood parentage mean that much to you?”

Maybe she wasn’t listening. Or if she was trying, she was not capable of hearing the cry in his heart. Loki felt the insane urge to laugh again, like he had with Thor; his black sense of humor came up in the most inconvenient of places. “No.” Loki did not smile, and his words lost their guttural edge. Became dead instead. “Blood parentage means nothing to me.” His hand slid from the glass and he straightened, turning away. He could feel his words stabbing Frigga and twisting inside of her. Suggesting what had hurt him and denying her knowledge—she was beyond forgiveness, she should be able to guess—it hurt her. Her voice became cold, long practice telling him that was her way of keeping control of herself. Queens did not have breakdowns.

“I am worried for you, Loki,” she said. “Please, do not over-exert your tongue. Do not make things worse.”

Loki did not turn around until she left.

ɤ

Loki kept count of the meals he ate; he could not tell the time otherwise. He only ate enough to satisfy the deepest pangs of hunger, and eventually the meals were adjusted to his proportions. He thought they probably fed him once a day. 

Loki mentally recited the same long passages over and over until his memory relented long-lost ones. He practiced magic in his head. He sat on the cot with his eyes closed and did complicated mental calculations that would have made an average Asgardian scholar dizzy when doing it on paper. He turned the calculations to a purpose: so much time for Chitauri to rebuild, gain momentum, find him, build a transport, come for him. So much time for Odin to decide his punishment.

He worked out the time that he had. Half a year, perhaps. An entire year if he was fortunate. He had to get out of here.

He tried to reach his magic.

Oh, how he tried!

He dug deep within himself for hours on end, unwilling to stop himself. It was always there, just beyond his grasp, and perhaps…if he looked hard enough, he would find the flaw in the spell countering his. But the harder he looked, the more hollow he felt as he realized how far his magic was from him.

He contemplated schemes and plots; things he would do when freed—or after escape. He imagined what his punishments would be, and got to be quite creative before he frightened himself and decided to stop. 

He paced the room, too. Not anxiously circling, like a caged animal, but a quick, brisk, purposeful walk, with his hands behind his back. He did it solely for the purpose of exercise. 

At least one week passed. Perhaps longer. Loki looked forward to his daily (?) meals because of the break in the silence and four walls. The young female servant never spoke, and avoided eye contact, strings of brown hair hanging beside her face. Loki hadn’t been speaking to her, but he at last broke the silence as she stepped into the room.

“Hand it to me,” he said, sitting on the cot. Previously, she had set it on the floor, and he had waited for a long time before going to it. She gave him a startled look. “They took my bite from me, so you are quite safe.”

She turned a bright red and shuffled forward, holding the tray out, with both of her hands grasping the far end of it. Loki bit his tongue to keep from laughing. What stories had been spread about him the past few—how long? He took the tray from her and, before she could turn, asked, “How long, exactly, have I been here?

“I—don’t--” she clasped her hands in front of her, glancing to the side where there was nothing to look at. “About two and a half weeks, I think, sir.”

That long? Perhaps they didn’t feed him every day. “I see. Time is rather had to track when you do not have anything to measure it by.” Loki examined the tasteless bread without appetite. “You know who I am, of course, but it is rather awkward that I do not know your name, is it not?”

The girl’s shoulders were hunched. “I’m—Gunna, sir,”

“Ah, Gunna,” Loki sighed and shook his head in disapproval. “What great misstep did you take to earn the assignment of bringing my meals?”

She looked bewildered. “Sir?”

“It is, I am sure, a task only for the un-favored ones.”

Gunna opened her mouth and then closed it, looking to the side again. He could almost hear her thoughts: ‘Do I need to be careful about insulting him? Is he technically still a prince? Could I get into trouble if he gets angry’? “I haven’t done anything, sir,” she said.

“Then you are lowly? The servant that gets the scraps?” Loki pressed. She didn’t answer. “When did you begin employment here?”

“About two months ago, sir.”

“Then yes, you are lowly,” Loki confirmed. He waved a hand. “You may go now.”

She scrambled away from him and left. Loki stared at the food on his plate for a while longer before pushing it away. He wasn’t hungry.

For the next two days, Loki gleaned from Gunna that, while there were many rumors flying around Asgard about what the Allfather would do to him—from blindings to torture to eternal house arrest to Asgard’s parallel form of “community service”—there was nothing coming from the Council and the Allfather themselves. Also that Gunna’s mother worked in the palace as well, and her father was a tailor.

The fourth day, when Loki opened his mouth to greet her, Gunna shoved the tray into his hands, blurted, “I’m sorry, sir, I’m not allowed to talk to you.” and fled.

Well. Loki would have foregone eating again, but that would have counted as a victory for—who, exactly? The Allfather? In any case, Loki made himself eat, to show that he was not perturbed. He didn’t really need information that Gunna gave him. It was simply something to pass the time, and for a harmless plaything to be taken from him annoyed and angered him. 

Finally, two more weeks (?), and Loki awoke to a thunderous “Brother! How do you fare?”

“Hello, Thor,” Loki sighed, despite his mind instantly leaping with relief at the break from monotony. 

Thor beamed at him, idiotically. “I see the scratches left by that muzzle are healed.”

“Of course they are.” Loki glared at him. As if Thor had nothing to do with the muzzle and had not clamped it onto Loki himself! “I have been in here for a month.” Mental stimulation aside, he was now thoroughly annoyed by Thor and wanted him to leave.

“Yes,” Thor’s much-to-cheerful demeanor sobered a bit, “I am sorry about that. I will meet with Father today to discuss—it.”

 “And how are your expeditions on Midgard?” Loki regretted saying that, as Thor’s face brightened back up again, until he could swear that it was actually glowing.

“Excellent! How did you know?”

Loki blinked. “Pardon?”

“That the Avengers have now become—more or less—a permanent fixture of New York City and the rest of Midgard, and we have already had many adventures!”

Loki leaned back and ran his hand down his face. “I did not,”

Thor frowned. “But how-”

“Because, Thor,” Loki let his hand drop as he once again began to long for peace and quiet. How he hated domestic conversations. “You find expeditions no matter where you go, whether they are actually there or not.”

Thor’s smile became gentle and he looked at Loki—almost _endearingly_ , damn it! “You know me well, Brother.” he said. 

Of course, you nimwit, I’ve only lived with you for most of my long life, Loki wanted to say. But insults, at this moment, while Thor was in this mood, would only further brand him as ‘Annoying But Lovable Little Brother’ in Thor’s mind. So instead Loki took an entirely different route. His tongue wanted to dance. To Hel with this domesticity. Time for some chaos.

Loki, keeping a calm exterior, casually examined his hands. “How is your woman?” In his unfocused vision, Loki saw Thor’s expression become guarded, and he didn’t answer right away. Loki took that opportunity to look up with an innocent expression, “Oh, do you not remember her? The…Jane-thing? She was a mortal that I rather think you fancied. I probably should have visited her, poor thing, if your memory is as short as all that.”

Thor scowled. “Jane Foster.” He gave her name. “She is doing well. She does not live with the Avengers in Stark Tower, but I see her often and--” his voice was losing its edge as Thor began to launch into storytelling mode. “Tony—that is Stark, the Iron Man--” Ah, yes. Reindeer games. Hilarious fellow. “tries to get her to let him help with her research. He would probably try to steal it simply to look at it, if he did not know that he would have to deal with me. But Jane refuses him. She prefers to finish it as she started—working on her own, with help from Erik and Darcy.” 

“She is as proud as her Golden Boy, I see.” Loki said. Thor blinked and took a moment to catch the reference.

“No more proud than you, Brother,” he said. Loki smiled a little. Of course he was proud. He deserved to be. He just didn’t let his pride interfere in silly schemes like the Jane Foster did.

Thor apparently brushed off the comment and he drew a chair up to the glass and sat down, leaning forward with an eager expression. The man was an impossible mixture of a short attention span and short-term memory loss when dealing with Loki. How else could he take insults from Loki when he could from no-one else? “Jane is brilliant. Do you know, she is continuing to try to find a way to build Midgard their own transportation system, as extensive as the Bifrost?” 

“Midgard with a Rainbow Bridge,” Loki said dryly. “Norns help us.”           

Thor straightened, looking defensive. “The mortals are not inferior, as you think them to be, Loki.”

“Not to everyone,” said Loki. Thor either did not catch the jibe, or he ignored it.

“Their short lives give them all the experiences that ours do,” Thor continued. “Just in quicker succession, and without as much repetitiveness. They create, they think, they have their own theories while, quite different from ours, are just as true. They rebuild their city with a vigor that astonishes even I. They live, Loki.”

“So do flies.” Loki was getting bored, and it showed in his voice. Thor looked frustrated.

“You do not see, Brother,” he sighed, “One day, I will take you to Midgard—as a guest—and show you.” He looked wistful, thinking about it. Showing his blind brother the wonders of the mortal world. Loki began to get angry. Him and his precious mortals. Loki would hurt him. He did not want to go to Midgard as Thor’s puppy.

“You’d be surprised,” Loki said, yawning, “At how much you learn about a world while conquering it.” Thor snapped out of his reverie and looked tired again, staring gloomily at him. 

_Yes, Thor, that is your terrible dilemma,_ Loki thought sarcastically. _Chose me, or the mortals. You cannot have us both._

“Besides,” Loki continued, with a smirk. “I am not overly eager to return to Midgard as a guest. They would burn me at the stake.” His unspoken words were ‘ _As a conqueror, however…’_ Thor must have caught them, because, along with deflating, he shot Loki a warning look.

_The mortals it is, then._

As an afterthought in the following silence, Loki added, “If Odin does not do it first.”

“Father will not ‘burn you at the stake’, Loki,” said Thor, getting to his feet with his shoulders slumped. Loki had a very hard time concealing his triumphant sneer. Only Loki Nobody’s-Son could defeat Thor Odinson, the Crown Prince of Asgard, without a single blow. The glow in Thor had been squelched out, down to the last spark. “I must return now. Farewell.” 

“Farewell,” Loki answered, and then, as a parting shot as Thor walked away, “Do not be too distressed, Thor. I am sure your woman will cheer you when you return to Midgard. With a warm bed, perhaps?”

Thor shot him a glare that could almost be called poisonous and he started to turn around. “Jane and I do not—do not insinuate that--” he stopped abruptly, frustration and despair playing over his face, and then turned back around and left.

Loki grinned at nothing, and let out a long, low laugh. Smart Thor. Good Thor. He was catching on to Loki’s game at last. He knew the only way he could not lose was to not play. His winning was out of the question. 

He wondered what Jane Foster thought of Thor’s continence, as she most likely did not share his way of life. However, since Thor had charmed her with what mortals thought of as his “old-fashioned” mannerisms, perhaps she found it refreshing. Like some people found “Captain America” refreshing…or ridiculous, depending on their temperance. In Asgard, it was admirable and wise to abstain from couplings until bondage to your mate. Not everyone did, naturally, but certainly the Princes of Asgard were expected to. Not that Loki cared any longer about what Asgard expected, but old habits died hard, and he was used to maidens being repulsed by him, unless they were the gypsies and prostitutes that permeated the slums. Loki had found himself in a slum, once, on Vanaheim, and had instantly been confronted by hordes of suggestive language and provocative bodices. All they cared about was that he was a prince, had money, and that they could gain power over him if he would lie with them. Loki wasn’t a fool then, and he wasn’t now. He had no intention of lying with anyone until he held the ropes, not his partner. 

This sexual code of his would have shocked Asgard, if they knew about it. On Midgard, however…it was clear that their entire culture was integrated in sex. Almost centered on sex. It was plastered everywhere, discussed everywhere, sought after as much, if not more, as money and power. Their absolute obsession was disgusting and idiotic. It was worse than the slums of Vanaheim. 

He wondered what Thor thought about it. More than likely, he hadn’t even noticed, genuinely or by self-blindness. Then Loki grinned as he thought about Thor’s reaction if Jane Foster ever suggested such a thing to him. If he agreed, and Asgard found out about it…Loki chuckled and lay back on his cot, entertaining this new fantasy until sleep took him.

ɤ

Loki was furious. He paced the room, angry now, glaring with hatred at every wall. It wasn’t as if anything had changed. Because nothing had changed. He was going to go _mad_ , locked up like this. Even Nick Fury had offered him reading material—though Loki did not know if he would really have given one to him. But that was different. Because Loki had plenty to do. He was performing for the surveillance cameras and guards the entire time, thinking and plotting inside his head. And he had not been in that cage for two months.

Here—he was just _waiting_. 

Perhaps this was to be his punishment. Death by boredom. Kept here, waiting for a punishment that would never come, for eternity. No, that wasn’t enough. He would get out eventually. He would. He would. He would.

Where was Thor now? He had seen nobody— _nobody—_ except the silent Gunna for four weeks. Roughly. It felt longer. Much longer. 

Solitary confinement—no, that was not something anybody, Asgardian, Jotun, or Midgardian, would tolerate as his punishment. Something must still be coming. This was an insult. An insult. Kept locked up, not important enough to be dealt with until the Allfather was bored and had some free time.

_So I am no more than another stolen relic. Locked up, here, until you might have use of me?_

Yes. Another stolen relic. A worthless stolen relic seemed to be the message now. 

He took it out on Gunna. For something to do. Anything. He insulted her with gentle words, asking about her family and twisting it around. She was an idiot, would remain one, and her whole family with them. She looked at him every day, alternating shock and dismay. More than once he brought her to tears. 

It was better than nothing. 

And the rest of the day, he spoke to himself, aloud, and to others who may or may not ever hear of what he said. Curses, mostly. Rage. Calculated insults and hints.

His words kept him sane.

ɤ

Loki did not care if he did not see anyone for years. That was the preferable alternative to turning around and seeing Odin standing at his door. Loki froze, mouth in a hard line, his fists clenched so hard that his arms trembled. Odin simply looked at him. Neither of them spoke. 

“Loki,” Odin said at last, in greeting.

“Hello, Allfather,” said Loki in response, honey dripping from his words in stark contrast to the stiffness he felt in his own face. “I am pleased that you have decided to grace my humble cell with your presence. What, of all times, brings you here now?” Instead of weeks ago?

“Frigga came to speak to you,” Odin said. “You have not needed her words.” Loki did not respond to that. “I have come to give you a chance, Loki, before anything is decided.”

“A chance,” Loki repeated, eyes narrowing. “Tell me, Allfather, do I really merit a…chance?”

“Few do. But, sometimes, some receive mercy anyway.”

Loki let out a laugh that was almost a cough. “Why would you offer me mercy?” 

Odin just looked at him, no expression on his face, but readable none the less. _Why do you think, Loki?_

Loki frowned.

“Ask what you wish,” said Odin. Loki hated it when the Allfather saw through him.

“I could not help but notice that, two months ago,” he paused for emphasis, and then continued, “You omitted any last name.”

“I did not know which you wanted,” said Odin.

“Since when does what villains want matter?”

Odin put his hand on the glass and was suddenly inside the cell, in front of him. Loki stepped back, startled, a spark of raw fury stirring in him.  He felt as though Odin had just invaded his private space. How pitiful. A cell was his private space now?

Odin did not chase him down, and spoke in the same, slow, careful, wise tone of voice that he always did. “The name Odinson is still open to you, Loki,” he said.

“If I am good?” Loki hissed. Did Odin think him a fool? That he would chase after approval so he could have…a name again?

“If you desire it,” said Odin. Loki stared at him. “You are the son of two fathers, Loki. It is your decision which you want to be.”

The fury, mixed with hatred was growing. “And I suppose my desire to be good will translate into my desire to bear your name, Allfather?” his voice grew louder. 

“I am speaking only of your desires, Loki, nothing else,” Odin said, infuriatingly calm still.

“Do you think me a fool, Odin?” Loki stepped forward, once, “My desires? My desires? My desires have never meant anything to Asgard, or you! My desires are my own, and no-one else’s to meddle in.”

“Beware of your tongue, Loki.” the Allfather’s tone changed slightly, and there was a new, dangerous light in his eye. “It will be your downfall.”

“My downfall!” Loki laughed again, his voice sounding harsh and much too loud in his own ears. He was shouting now. “My tongue, my only lifeline since childhood, is to be my downfall now? You were the ones who made me use my tongue! I could not fight for favor, as Thor did. I could not reason. Silvertongue and Liesmith! How do you think I became that, Allfather? Thor was wrong—you are not a fool. You are wise, Odin! Wise, and naïve, and arrogant!”

Odin’s voice did not get louder but it became stronger, and he drew himself up. “Do not insult your king, Loki.”

“Yes, yes, my king!” Loki was laughing again. “Do you remember, king , that I saved your life?”

“You endangered my life to save it,” said Odin.

“Because I wanted to save it! I killed the true father who disowned me to save the life and favor of the false one who will—and you told me _no._ ”

“I have not disowned you!” Odin’s voice rang in the cell.

“I do not want your name, Allfather!” Loki shouted, and then he screamed, and something exploded inside of him. Something came rushing out, hatred, strong and glorious, shooting from his fingertips in a pulsing, gushing, living wave—he was _alive--_ and then Loki felt himself get turned inside out as his spine splintered and his vision went white. 

An alien energy rushed into him, taking over his senses. Loki could see and hear nothing but rushing white. He almost couldn’t breathe; dragging air into his lungs brought bursts of pain. Something gripped his arms, pulled him forwards, and only then did Loki realize he must have been sitting crumpled against a wall. How had he gotten there?

Cold.

With a burst of color, his vision returned and Loki was alone in his cell again, laying on his cot. The back of his skull throbbed, and mild pain tickled his wrists. The chains were back. Loki blinked and took a deep breath, sitting up. 

His magic. Delight rose up in Loki. His magic had not abandoned him. At that moment, he had used it—he was not helpless! Despite the strong spells over his cage, they could not treat him as a child. Of course, in his attempt to kill Odin, the magic of the cell responded as it always had—matching the strength of his. Only before, it had killed his magic before it could emerge. For an instant, he’d overpowered the magic of the cell. And then it had retaliated and struck back at him. Loki did not know if he had hurt the Allfather or no. He expected not. But it was glorious to not be helpless. Loki had never heard of any sorcerer who had overpowered a magicked cage.

 _Loki, you break too many records for your own good,_ he thought. 

And now the chains acted as a double precaution. Loki frowned and tugged at them, his glee fading. The alien energy—residues of the cell’s defensive magic—slowly trickled out of him. They could not leave them on for long—could they? Loki rolled his neck, grimacing. Either his own explosion of magic, or the defensive pulse of the cell’s magic had pushed him backwards against the wall, where he must have hit his head. Why was there pain in his arms?

It came from the chains. Loki tugged on them again, and then gave a weak smile. The magic of the cell repressed magic by keeping it inside of him and, since he could not reach it, lethargic. Part of the way the chains worked was not so much repressing magic as extracting it. The chains attacked his body, and the magic responded—much like white blood cells. It was automatic, and he could not stop it. With both going at once, the cell slowed his magic’s response, and the chains were actually succeeding where they were not supposed to—actually hurting him. Loki guessed he would begin to see bruising by tomorrow. 

And if they did not take them off—

No. That would be barbaric. Odin may permit it, but Thor would not. 

_But where is Thor?_

On Midgard. With the mortals. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the rough draft of this fic completed, but most of it has not yet been edited. I'm not positive how to divide the chapters (hence the 1/?), but it'll be be around 14-15 total. I hope to update once a week. :)
> 
> ~caramell


	2. Slay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains some pain and blood.

_Loki awoke to several things standing around him. He didn’t panic, and remained still with his eyes closed. In the few moments he spent looking backwards, he remembered the incident on Migard with the cube—Tesseract, they called it—and what it had done. His fall must have landed him there—_ Mid _gard, of all places—and then the Tesseract had moved him…where?_

_The conversation above him took a turn._

_“We should kill it,”_

_“But where did it come from?”_

_“It does not matter. We do not know what it is doing here. It may be dangerous.”_

_Oh, no. Loki felt new strength flooding into him. The brokenness he’d felt as he let go was gone, replaced by a cool hatred for Thor, who had betrayed him, Odin, who had all but thrown him into the abyss himself, and Midgard, especially the woman, who had taken Thor’s side. Oh, no. Loki had thrown himself to the mercy of the universe and the universe had spared him._

_He had no intention of dying now._

_Loki opened his eyes, causing the things above him to leap back._

_“Kill it!” one of them shouted._

_A cool smile spread across Loki’s face. He chuckled. “You don’t want to do that, darling.” Loki sat up and got to his feet, the things stepping back with glowing weapons raised. A slight, familiar energy hummed in their hands. They were a paler grey, of Asgardian shape, but soft and slippery-looking, like mushrooms. Helmets covered most of their faces. They were strange to him, not of any of the Nine Realms. Loki felt a stab of shock at this as he realized what this meant, but he didn’t dwell on it. As he looked at the blue energy humming in their hands, the beginnings of a plan formed. “I am Loki, of Asgard,” he said, covering himself with an illusion of his armor. “And I would have words with your leader.”_

_“We have no knowledge of you, Loki of Asgard,” the one in front hissed, pointing a weapon directly at his chest. “And we care not what your wishes are.” At that signal, the weapons rose around him in a ring, the humming sound increasing in volume. Loki smiled and held up both of his hands, letting magic dance in his palms._

_“I have a proposal that your leader would do well to hear,” he said, even as his mind began to work on what the proposal might be. “It would leave us both benefactors. You may try to kill me, but do you really want to be responsible for the desolation of your forces?”_

_“You threaten us?” the one in front all but screamed._

_“Oh no,” Loki gave a short, condescending laugh. “You threaten yourselves when you threaten to make an enemy of the one who wishes to become your most powerful ally.” Sensing their hesitation—they hadn’t tried to kill him yet—Loki repeated, “Bring me to your leader.”_

_After a short silence, the front one stepped back. “Come with us, then.”_

_Loki didn’t move, glowering at the arrogant fool. “I will not be escorted like a prisoner when I have done you no wrong,” he stated._

_Another pause, and then in a wave the weapons were lowered. Loki smiled as the front soldier waved for him to follow._

_They stepped out of the dark overhang of rock, onto a warm, dark world of craters and dusty formations. Galaxies and nebulae shone around them in reds and greens as the small army silently followed Loki and his guide. They paused at a place like all the others they had been passing, and another, smaller, thing emerged from the rocks. Loki blinked at the uneasiness that filled him at the sight—or the feeling, rather that came from it. A wary strangeness cloaked this figure, as if part of him did not exist in this world._

_“Who is this,” the shorter figure hissed, “And why have you brought him?”_

_“I am Loki of Asgard,” Loki said before the guide could speak for him. “Are you the leader of these people?”_

_The figure snarled. “I am the Other, and you shall speak to me.”_

_Close enough. “I have come to you with a proposal,” he said. The Other didn’t speak, waiting for him to go on. Loki turned and glanced at the soldiers around them, speaking to them as a whole. “I come from a distant part of the Universe. Asgard, as I have already said. Near Asgard lies a Realm known as—Earth,” he looked back at the Other. “The habitation of the humans. The humans have procession of a great tool; a source of fantastic power.”_

_“What does this have to do with the Chitauri?” the Other hissed. The Chitauri, Loki assumed, was their kind. But why would the Other speak of them in the third person?’_

_Loki’s tongue curled in delight at this challenge. He would squelch their opposition. “I lived an eternity among those with no ambition or regard for something greater,” he said with disdain. “But you, I can see in you the possibilities and desire it takes to reach greatness—I can see it because it is something I share. You,” Loki smiled, “Could use this power—this Tesseract, to do whatever you wished, such as building the greatest empire the universe has ever seen.”_

_“What of the humans, who already possess this power?”_

_Loki glanced heavenward with scorn. “The humans are a primitive race, and do not have the means to harness its power. It sits stagnant in their grasp. To take the Tesseract from them would be taking the center of the universe from the hands of a child.”_

_“And you would have a share in this power; you would become a joint ruler.”_

_“No.” Loki didn’t hesitate; it was obvious that was a proposal the Other would never accept. And he did not find it attractive himself._

_“Then the ambitious Loki of Asgard would hand us this Tesseract as a gift.” the Other said, baring his teeth, his voice dripping sarcasm._

_“No,” Loki said, smiling again. “I ask something else: I would have Earth as my own.”_

_“Why so little for so much?” the Other, it seemed, had no intention of bartering for Loki’s plan. Take it or leave it._

_“It is not so little when you consider who is getting what,” Loki said. “Look around you. It would seem that you already have a daunting force, and an empire from which to strike. I, ruler though I am, have nothing to command.”_

_The Other did something that Loki supposed was meant to be a smile; a revolting, evil smile. “There seems to be no reason for the Chitauri to need you to carry out this plan of yours.”_

_“Ah,” Loki held up a finger, “But you forget—I am familiar with the Nine Realms. I hail from there. I alone know the way back; I know their strengths, their weaknesses. And do not underestimate my personal power.” Loki straightened, holding out his arms and letting magic whirl through him around him in pure, unharnessed, energy form, smiling all the while. A threat. “This is my bargain: hand your forces over to me. I will use them and the Tesseract to break Earth’s defenses. Once the battle is over and Earth is mine, the Tesseract and your army will be yours once more. You will then be free to do what you wish with the Tesseract; overtaking the Realms and beyond if you feel so inclined. But Midgard you leave to me.”_

_“Midgard?” the Other hissed._

_Loki shrugged. “It is another name for Earth.”_

_“I have a question of you,” the Other said. “Why did you leave? Why allow us to conquer your home?”_

_Loki shuttered his face. “The Nine Realms had a senseless hatred for me, and I hold no great love for them either. They are no longer my home.”_

_“How can the Chitauri be sure of that?”_

_Loki raised an eyebrow. “In truth, I am not truly of Asgard. I originally hail from the Realm of Jotunheim. It matters not; the Aesir are sentimental beings, but I am not.”_

_The Other seemed to accept that. “How did you reach us here, if the Realms are so far, and travel has never come between our two worlds?”_

_Loki saw no reason to tell them of his attempted suicide. “I went to Midgard, where I found the Tesseract. I used it to teleport here, where I wandered your land until I found you. Your weapons,” he explained, gesturing to the many that surrounded them, “Hold the same kind of energy that the Tesseract does, in a much gentler form. Using them and my magic, we can muster enough power to send me back to Midgard to the Tesseract, where I may take it and open a stronger portal for you and your forces to come through. And,” Loki caught the glint of treachery, “Should you betray me and attempt to withhold Midgard from me, I will take the Tesseract to Asgard. They have no love for me, but they would take a great pleasure in destroying a force such as your own.”_

_The Other gave his chilling smile again. “Then the pact is thus: we send you through a portal to the Tesseract, where you open a channel for the Chitauri’s redoubtable army. Under your command, they subdue Earth. In exchange for this, the Chitauri gain the Tesseract and leave Earth to you. Do you agree to this, Asgardian?”_

_Loki was again struck by the unworldliness of the Other, and suspicious, he went over the bargain in his mind. Finding no fault, he agreed. “Yes.”_

_Reality flinched. Loki blinked, and the feeling left._

_The time passed in the Chitauri’s world was a blur. With Loki’s knowledge of magic, and the Chitauri’s knowledge of the Tesseract-like energy, they began to build a device that could open the doorway to the Tesseract. Being close to this energy, Loki again found new sources of power, as he had when standing next to the Tesseract. It was fainter, but there, and he was able to integrate it into himself. He didn’t understand why, but his magic seemed much stronger than it had ever been on Asgard, even without the Tesseract’s energy. The Other seemed pleased with this. Loki wondered where the Tesseract had come from, and how it had found its way to the Realms. He had no answer to this, and did not dwell on it._

_Loki learned of the Chitauri; their ways and their abilities. Their hunting senses were almost manic. He witnessed a few short hunts (they were always short)—both for animals and outlaws—that sent chills down his back in their wild ruthlessness that never, ever failed._

_They could sense magic, though they had no control over it. Loki didn’t believe the Other at first when he had claimed it._

_“I am a sorcerer,” he said, in disgust. “And I sense no magic in you.”_

_The Other responded by daring him to throw a dart of magic with no physical representations. Loki had done so, and the Other struck it. They repeated the test several times and the Other always touched it. This was something beyond Loki’s comprehension; how someone could not control magic, but sense it with such accuracy._

_The Other never referred to himself. He never said ‘I’, and only occasionally said ‘us’ and ‘we’. He primarily spoke of ‘the Chitauri’ and ‘Him’ and ‘He’. Yet all Chitauri followed the Other’s commands without question, with the aura of following a supreme ruler. The Other never referred decisions to a higher power when speaking with Loki—and he had agreed to give another man power over his own army without consulting anybody. Loki always referred to the Other as though he were the supreme ruler, never speaking of the mysterious ‘he’, and the Other never corrected him. Loki decided that he must have made allies with a slightly insane creature. He didn’t really care, though it puzzled him. The otherworldliness probably meant that the Other had spent time in some sort of alternate dimensional place…much like Loki had spent time in the abyss. He didn’t know how long he had fallen through the Tesseract; only that his hair had grown and his scars had faded. Enough time spent there would drive anyone mad. Asgard and all that had happened felt like distant memories. And even if there truly was another power besides the Other, he couldn’t be much more than a puppet, as the Other made all of the decisions. _

_Over time, Loki’s uneasiness grew, and he felt as though he were losing control. Sometimes the Other seemed almost child-like; as pathetic as a mortal, easily riled and manipulated. But other times he grew so threatening and terrifying that Loki had a hard time speaking, let alone manipulating. Loki still held the ropes, he knew—the Other did need him in order to find and take the Tesseract, even just to open the doorway to the Nine Realms—and Loki could easily give the Tesseract to Asgard if he sensed treachery. But it was the way he – bargained. Whenever they made arrangements, the Other held him to his word as if it were chain around Loki’s neck. He always insisted on Loki agreeing vocally with whatever plans were made, and then smiled as though he had won a battle._

_Then came the scepter. Built from knowledge and energy, and the Other gave it to Loki to use. Its power was immense, even without the Tesseract, and holding it in that way—Loki’s mind was opened again, the cosmos at his fingertips. The Other began to treat him as a child, as though the Other had pulled him out of the darkness a sniveling wreck and raised him himself. As if the Other had given Loki their plan. Loki hated him for it, and reminded the Other every opportunity he had that the Other’s words were empty; Loki had the knowledge they needed for anything to succeed._

_He hated this place, with its pale, animalistic warriors and its never-ending darkness. As the time grew close, Loki held the scepter in his hand always, waiting for the moment where he could end this mockery of the universe, where he could squelch out every quip, every insult, every doubt thrown at him from childhood. Even as he felt his grip on reality slipping, Loki stood firm. His time was coming._

ɤ

Loki had trouble sleeping. The pain snaking from his palms slowly up to his shoulders was not intense, but annoying enough to chase away rest. By the time Loki assumed it was tomorrow (the light in his cell never changed), his skin had a slight purplish cast halfway up his biceps. 

And then two guards came into his room. Loki turned his head towards them and raised his eyebrows.

“You are to come with us,” one said. Loki sat up, carefully, trying to not jar his arms. The chain swinging between his wrists made that quite the difficulty.

_This is it, then._

Loki got to his feet and the tallest guard—slightly shorter than Loki--snapped a thick metal collar about Loki’s neck, holding the end of the connected chain-leash in his hands. The other guard put a firm hand on his shoulder. 

He noted, with interest, that the muzzle was nowhere in sight.

“Come.”

Loki complied. Despite the magical chains injuring him, Loki wasn’t as weak as he had been the last time he’d worn them. When he left the cell, Loki took a deep breath, appreciating the lifting of weight from his shoulders. He stopped for an instant, almost losing his balance as he felt that he would drift up off of the floor. He blinked to clear his vision, ignoring the quizzical looks he got from the guards and started forward again. 

Loki remained calm, almost disconnected, as the guards took him up from the depths of the dungeons. 

It was only when they reached the ground level of the palace that Loki’s gut twisted. For well-known criminals who did the common people, as well as others, a good deal of harm, the handing out of the punishments were open to public comings and goings. Already, he could hear the crowd. Angry. Boiling. Loki’s steps faltered. 

Thor appeared at the end of the hall, hurrying towards him, eyes full of concern and nerves.

“Brother.” He did not acknowledge the guards, and they automatically stopped and waited. 

Loki kept his face guarded. “Were you a part of the council?” he asked in a low voice.

“Yes, Loki, but I could not—there were some who wanted you killed, but I would not permit that.” Thor spoke in a rush. Loki wondered if he was disobeying the Allfather to speak to him. “I insisted, and Father listened to me—he does not want you killed either, Loki, but to satisfy—in any case, you will not be executed.”

“Somehow, I do not feel myself rejoicing,” said Loki in a flat tone.

Thor set his jaw, his gaze darting along the hall. A caged animal; that was what he looked like. 

The noise outside and his magic-deprived state made Loki short-tempered. “How bad is it, Thor?”

“You will not be killed,” Thor said, a note of desperation in his voice making it sound more like a plea than a fact. “There is—I do not wish it on you, Loki, but it is not too much—I will help you, I promise, anything I can do--”

“I am not interested in your babblings, Thor,” Loki hissed, growing angry to cover his unease. “What is it?”

“I will stay with you,” Thor repeated, and then turned around and went back the way he had come. The guards waited, and then followed, taking a different door.

Loki stopped an instant before entering the courtyard—not the throne room, as it was too small—and his expression became hard. 

Then they stepped out into the shifting crowd that drew away from them with eerie swiftness, clearing a pathway. Their shouts and murmurs blurred together into a roar. Loki walked stiffly, straight, ignoring the throbbing in his arms. Though this was not the throne room, a regal chair had been set out for Odin in the center and Loki stepped in front of him, a few yards away, and gracefully sat down on his knees and waited. Odin rose and silence fell. A light wind whispered, pushing Loki’s hair in front of his face and blowing up gentle clouds of dust at Odin’s feet.

“Loki,” he said, and the silence broke into the non-distinguished angry babble of commoners. Odin continued, his voice calm and, as always, quiet, but audible and clear. “You have been brought here today to answer for your crimes against Midgard, Asgard, and Jotunheim. In addition to those crimes already stated is the direct attempt on my life that you took yesterday.” The crowd gasped audibly and then became outraged.

Loki felt strangely calm.

“To pay for your crimes,” Odin continued, “Your ability to commit further acts will be carved from you.” He stepped forward a little. “You relied on several powers and instances to commit these crimes. These penalties will remain in place permanently, unless there is such a time that you are deemed worthy for them to be removed or changed.” That was a formality. Always spoken. Rarely implemented. Impossible for Loki. Odin reached out a hand, symbolically. “First, I take from you your citizenship. You will be confined to a holding cell beneath the palace, deprived of all rights given to the people of Asgard. You will remain there, unable to live anywhere else in Asgard or the Nine Realms and beyond.”

Loki felt the people coming up behind him, and he flinched as hands grabbed his shoulders.

“Outside of your designated safety area of the palace of Asgard, you are under no protection of the law.”

Beside him, a brush dipped into what looked like water as hands held him into place. Loki stiffened, but did not fight, gaze fastened on Odin, expressionless.

“This brand will tell of your illegality, should you ever escape and are outside of the palace walls.” The wet brush drew a burning design on his right cheek, digging into his skin and seeping into his veins in a veil of fire. Loki blinked rapidly, biting his tongue and making no sound as he felt the design expand on its own, snaking down over the whole right side of his body, curling out over his wrist and onto the back of his hand and his palm. “That whoever may see you knows that returning you, either dead or alive, to Asgard, merits great reward.” The design delved deeper, scarring his features in the twirled, unmistakable brand of an outlaw.

“Second,” Odin said, his voice growing stronger, “I take from you your magic. Your gift of sorcery is very strong, and it will be drained from you until you pose no harm to Asgard.” Loki felt a flash of panic. “This will be done by a combination of spells in the holding cells and—since you have shown yourself strong enough to overcome even those--” Somebody in the audience actually whimpered. Loki wished he could throw fire in her face, just to justify her fear. “You will also wear the chains, alternately, as healers and consultants see fit.” Both of them. Constantly. Loki withered internally, and mentally reached out and touched his magic in a kind of trembling caress. Not that any of this was surprising him.

 _Wise, Odin, very wise,_ he thought with hatred, the panic still stringing through him. Sorcerers had lost their magic before, just by deprivation. Almost like starving it away. Loki couldn’t lose his magic. It was a part of him. He couldn’t bear it. 

“Third, you have been gifted with a great mind,” something in the way Odin said that made Loki shudder and the crowd quieted a little. “A manipulative mind. Of course, no one can take away an intellect. However,” his eyes grew dark. Loki’s insides shivered. “We can take away that which it feeds upon.”

 _No._ Loki’s eyes widened a little. _Please_ , no, with only two months he was already going mad. Not for eternity. It was cruel. _Cruel_.

“In your confinement you will remain solitary, with minimal interactions with outsiders or materials.”

No matter. Loki could feel himself beginning to tremble with rage and apprehension. He struggled to calm himself, to think through this. No matter. He had gotten through these two months with only thinking and speaking. Some people made a career of that. Philosophizing. He could not write anything down, of course, but he could still—still—

“Fourth,” the Allfather spoke very loudly now, his voice ringing over a crowd that had almost gone silent. And then suddenly his voice dropped and he looked directly into Loki’s eyes. “That for which you are best known, Silvertongue Liesmith.”

Horror froze Loki’s blood.

“With your lies and manipulations you no longer have the trust of these Realms to speak.”

Loki could see the dwarf in his mind before he saw it out of his peripheral vision.

“No.” Loki couldn’t hear his own voice. Like it were already gone.

“And so, lastly, Loki,” Odin’s voice became very quiet. “I take from you your words.”

Loki stood. “No.” 

The single denial. In that moment, everything froze, and he could walk away. He could deny his punishments and just go into the crowd. It would part for him, silently, and he would walk away. Then the guards grabbed him again and the bubble burst.

“No!”

Odin was condemning him to be confined in his own mind for eternity. He would go mad, and Odin knew it. Not his words. Not his tongue. He needed it. It was his only grasp on reality, on _sanity_. The rest of the punishments weren’t necessary, couldn’t he see that?

They pulled at him, dragging him back down to his knees, the collar choking him, but Loki bucked, fought them, panic drowning every rational thought.

“No! Allfather!” he shouted, his voice drowned in the uproar of hate buffeting him from all sides. A hand grabbed the side of his head and pushed it against a shoulder until his face looked tiltedly, halfway between the earth and the sky. Odin stood sideways, watching him silently. 

The Allfather’s eyes glistened. 

The crowd filled the silence between them as the dwarf stood before him and threaded the needle.

“ _Allfather!”_

“Shut up, mewler!”         

“Silence the Silver Tongue!”

“See how you like an eternity of your own twisted mind, Liesmith!”

The dwarf stepped forward, its dark skin thin and tightly wrinkled. Loki was thoroughly pinned and he could not move. The dwarf placed the thick needle tip against the skin of his upper lip and _pushed_.

Claws ripped through his mouth and down his throat. Magic tendrils wrapped around his tongue, dissolved into it, hissing through his mouth as the thread was pulled through. Blood spurted and pulsed down his chin, throbbing and burning. The thread was thin and metallic, almost a wire. It bit into him. Loki realized he was screaming.

“ _Father!”_

Loki snapped his jaw shut, trembling and quivering, having the presence of mind to set his lips at a normal position so they would get…sewn…correctly and he would be in minimal pain for the years to come.

Minimal pain! The needle pierced his lower lip and the magic shrieked through him again. His own, still engrained in his body, rose to meet it and fought. Sparks and stars exploded before his eyes as the claws continued to rent down his throat, through his brain, attacking his voicebox.

The muzzle prevented sound from being heard. This prevented sound from even being attempted to be made. 

It felt as though his _soul_ was being rent from the deepest places of his heart. Loki gasped and tears started from the pain. 

The dwarf drew the thread tight. Loki grimaced, parting his lips slightly to try to get the dwarf to sew more loosely. It wasn’t fooled, and simply pulled harder. The thread bit into his skin, slicing through it a little ways, pulling tight. Loki shut his eyes, struggling to make his mouth relax, breathing heavily through his nose. He didn’t let out a sound. His last cry would not be a cry for mercy. The dwarf came near to the end of his lips and Loki opened his eyes again. He had stopped struggling against those holding him, but his head was still held at the tilted angle that made Odin look as though he were standing on slanted ground. Loki’s eyes glittered with hatred. He parted his lips, ignoring the intense pain searing through his mouth that the magic thread gave as it struggled to finish its spell.

His voice was already giving out as the magic attacked it, and Loki could hardly hear himself. His words were not honeyed, but rough, like jagged rocks and it hurt to speak. But he did speak. Four last words. Into them he poured his hate and vehemence that churned inside of him, and they came out in a cold calm. He spoke even as the dwarf began the last stitch, his eyes fixed on Odin’s, and Odin’s fixed on his.

“Curse you, Odin Allfather.”

Then the last stitch pulled tight and the magic bound itself around his voice and yanked it out of him. His soul fluttered away. Loki convulsed, reflexively, arching his back, his eyes rolling back into his head.

The dwarf was not finished, though the spell was. In one last act of cruelty, he casually crossed back over the stitches he had already made, creating neat little x’s. Then he bit the end of the thread, tied it off, rolled up his spool, wiped the bloody needle on a clean white cloth, and stood up, lumbering back into the gleeful, horrified crowd and disappearing. 

The guards released Loki, whose eyes were closed again. He slumped over onto the ground the moment they let go. The crowd quieted, looking at him with interest. Odin held up a hand and the guards, who had bent back over him, backed away. They waited in silence.

Loki suddenly took a deep breath through his nose and his eyes opened. He stared at nothing for a moment, then sat up, slowly, tiredly. He looked around. The crowd let out a satisfied noise—a mixture of sighs, cheers, grumbles, hurtled insults. 

Loki did not react to them. Looking at no one in particular, he got slowly to his feet and stood, swaying a little. The guards took his leash and his shoulder again, and led him back through the crowd. Out of the fresh air. Into the dungeons. Into his cell. 

They left him there, on the cot, just sitting and staring. 

Loki Laufeyson. Realmless. Rightless. Powerless. Magicless.

Voiceless.

After a moment he blinked, breathed in shakily, and glanced over his unchanged cell. The last time he’d been in it, he had been terribly bored—but not despairing. It would end, someday. Like the chains and the muzzle had ended. It was just a waiting period. In between.

This was _forever_. Permanent. He couldn’t fathom it. Dread and tight nerves surfaced when he tried. He struggled to keep a hold on himself. He would _not_ go mad.

_“It is not too much—I will help you, I promise, anything I can do…”_

Blood still trickled down his chin, making spots on the white floor as it dripped between his knees. 

_Do what, Thor?_ Rage built up in Loki. _Do what? Come visit? Jabber about your precious Midgard? How can you know what is too much?_

Loki brought his hands to his eyes, the bruising in his arms bringing pain that shot through his shoulders.

_How can you possibly know anything?_

Loki screamed in frustration.

Only he did not. He breathed heavily, trembling all over in dread and fury. 

The silence.

Loki leapt to his feet and gave one wall of his prison a vicious kick that sent shooting pains up his ankle. But he could not voice his anger and he felt it sit, hot and heavy, in his throat. So he continued attacking the walls, throwing himself against them, rolling to the side, kicking, punching, and unable to release the hard knot inside of him. 

“Brother, don’t do that! You will hurt yourself!”

Loki spun and leaped towards the glass, slamming both of his fists into it, breathing hard and glaring with hatred into Thor’s astonished face. The glass vibrated with the shock, and the sound of the blow reverberated in Loki’s ears. 

“Loki?”

Loki lifted his right fist and brought it against the glass again, and then slid both hands down and turned around. He went calmly to the cot and sat down, looking straight ahead, and not at Thor. It was only then he realized his knuckles seeped blood.

“I am sorry,” Thor said, anxious. “You are angry with me? I did not want this done to you, but…it will not last, I don’t think. You can adjust, can you not? Eventually it will be loosened. And I will visit periodically…I do not know how often I will be allowed, but I will come.”

Loki gave no response, looking placidly at nothing with his hands draped over one another in his lap. 

“In the meantime, I will return to Midgard--” a manservant came into view, stopping at a distance and gestured at Thor. Thor pressed his hands against the glass, desperate, broken. “They will not let me stay now.” He stood there, but Loki refused to look at him. The servant came forward, and Thor finally backed away. “Farewell, Loki.”

Loki waited until he had gone, and then threw himself back, covering both eyes with his hands again.

Adjust? _Adjust_?

If it had not been the prominent mark of a madman, Loki would have torn at his own hair in frustration. 

He threw himself about the cell again, until, at last exhausted and bruised, his hot anger subsiding into cold, he sank down on the cot and fell asleep.

ɤ

Loki awoke when they entered to feed him. Well, not feed in the normal sense of the word. His lips were sewn shut. Loki scowled at them and shook his head, showing his displeasure.

_I am not hungry._

The two servants advanced though—not Gunna, he wondered what had happened to her. Loki shook his head again, and put his hand out palm-first.

_Leave me alone!_

One stopped to unfold the cloth around the stone while the other gestured at Loki to pull up his shirt. Loki glared, and the servant bent to do it himself. So Loki swung his hands, striking the servant hard in the face with his chains, sending pain tearing up his bruised arms. The servant stepped back, looking startled and holding his cheek. The servants glanced at each other, and left. Loki would have smiled if it didn’t hurt so much.

His triumph was short-lived as three more entered the cell, with the fourth still holding the stone in the cloth. The three stepped forward with purpose, and Loki stood up, holding up his hands, threateningly. They grabbed him and he fought them, but they were three, he was one, and weakened. If he could only _speak…_ he could convince them otherwise, throw them back, reason and curse and intimidate—

One whipped out what looked to be an enormous pair of curved, dull scissors, which he clamped around Loki’s neck. Loki froze. One twist, and his neck would snap. He knew how this worked. He looked at the one with the weapon and managed an inane smile that existed mostly about the corners of his lips, which did not hurt quite as excruciatingly.

He stood, thus entrapped, while the collar was put about his neck again and its leash hammered into the wall above his cot. Loki pressed his hands to the wall as the one with the stone came forward. Loki stiffened, and the clamp tightened. The servant lightly lifted Loki’s shirt and pressed the stone, as wide as the servant’s hand, against the skin. Loki’s throat clenched around his unspoken words.

It was painfully hot, but not so hot as to actually burn him. Loki scowled, and gritted his teeth in humiliation, fingertips pressed to the wall behind him as the secondary nutrition streaked into him. It did not satisfy hunger pangs, but it kept him alive and hydrated. After several seconds, the servant withdrew the stone, and the clamp finally, mercifully, left his neck. 

Loki straightened his clothing, glaring at the servants who had invaded his privacy as they left without a word, leaving him attached to the wall. Curses boiled in his throat as he sat down, his scowl prominent enough to pain his mouth. He reached up and yanked at the thread, uselessly, he knew, but he was already desperate. The thread could have had magic added to it if the sewer wished, or the Allfather had demanded it, deadly magic, but this did not. It simply prevented him from making sound. Yet he was so _trapped._ The thread remained unmoved, not even loosened, and it cut deeper into his mouth. It gave Loki an idea. He bunched his blanket up in his hands to give him something to squeeze, then leaned his head back against the wall, closed his eyes, and _pulled_.

He could not break the thread. But he could tear his lips. Perhaps tear them free. 

He held his breath, fighting the pain exploding inside his head as well on the strings. 

_Don’t fight the magic,_ he told himself. It took self-control, but he managed to ignore it. No, just his own skin and muscles, his jaw, opening…

He would escape this!

The thread was almost elastic. It stretched just enough to not be able to be undone. It cut deeply into him, but not so much as to actually tear free. He felt something else fighting against him, keeping his jaw clamped shut.

Blood rushed through him, hot and furious, streaked with ice and pain—and then it pulsed, leaping in a white-hot flash that brought him close to fainting.

Loki stopped, both hands cupped over his mouth, catching blood in his palms, suddenly aware of the tears running down his cheeks. He didn’t stop them, exhaustion and despair creeping over him, and he wept in anger, misery, hopelessness, and pain.

ɤ

They let him go at intervals, primarily to relieve himself, but there always followed a struggle and silent curses to get the chain back onto the wall. Loki lost count of the days he fought. The chains brought more bruising and several burns. He stopped feeling magic stirring. And then he stopped fighting, becoming cold, and then, finally, despairing. 

He slept a lot. His mouth had healed around the threads, but Loki did not wash the blood from his face. Months passed and he took to spending most of the time lying down, not fighting when they came in and force-“fed” him, almost taking no notice. He usually closed his eyes to them or simply stared over their heads. Outside, he was a shell.

Inside, he waited.

He had not forgotten the Chitauri. Loki was not guarded carefully, the cell being counted on to contain him. It would be nothing for somebody to break in and spirit him away. Gradually, the servants coming to feed him dwindled down to two, one of whom carried the clamp-weapon as a precaution, and still Loki waited. Once, the door was left open for a careless amount of time. Loki just stared at it disinterestedly before closing his eyes again. Months passed. Thor did not return.

He studied the scars on the back of his hand until he memorized their shape. His own body felt foreign to him with the detestable design on him. On his palm, Loki noticed with a sparse feeling of what might be called nostalgia, part of the scar looked a little like the outline of a twisted, spindly hawk in flight. A scar Thor had gotten while they were both growing into the bodies of men, while retaining the minds of boys.

ɤ

_“A fiery creature from Muspelheim.” Thor stormed about the room while Loki sat cross-legged on the bed, hands resting on his knees, in the middle of vast oceans of green. Thor’s blue eyes burned. “ Why would Father not allow us to go, Loki? It is a grand opportunity for adventure; a hunt like no other! Surely Father cannot imagine that it is a match for him; but why would he allow us not to go?”_

_“He must know we are not prepared for such a hunt, Thor,” said Loki calmly. Unlike his rowdy brother, Loki had little desire to kill creatures, from Muspelheim or otherwise._

_“But we are! How can he doubt me after I accompanied him and the others to take care of the bilgesnipe threatening those villages?”_

_“Perhaps because a creature from Muspelheim is not a bilgesnipe.” Loki stated the obvious. “And I was not with you when you confronted the bilgesnipes.” Loki had not been with Thor for a good many expeditions lately. He could feel space gaping between them; a space he longed to close._

_Thor collapsed across Loki’s bed, sinking deep into the blankets, staring up at the ceiling. “He does not have confidence in me,” he said gloomily._

_“Father will see when you are ready, Thor,” said Loki, careful to not actually suggest what he wanted Thor to decide. He leaned over to put his hand on his brother’s shoulder._

_“You should be just as upset as I, Loki! How can you be so calm!” Thor sat up without giving him a chance to answer. “We must go into the forest and show him we are ready!”_

_“And hunt bilgesnipe?” asked Loki with a little laugh._

_“Nay! Hunt the creature from Muspelheim!”_

_Loki’s eyes went wide. He hadn’t meant for Thor to jump this far. “That would be in direct defiance to Father, Thor! He would kill us!”_

_“The punishment would be light in the face of our victory, Loki!” Thor leapt off the bed, filled with new exuberance at this idea. “Father and Asgard would be filled with pride at the might of its young warriors!”_

_“I was not talking about Father, you fool!” Loki said, also jumping off of the bed and putting up his hands to calm Thor. “We are no match for this thing from Muspelheim!”_

_Thor just laughed. “We will go with the Warriors Three and Sif! What a fine thing it will be when we return!”_

_That was Thor. Always jumping to the brightest results before counting the possible tragedies. Ever the incurable optimist. Loki thought fast. Father had taken an entire regiment to face the fire-creature. More than likely they would find it before him and Thor. And even if they did not, Loki could hide Thor and himself from the creature with magic, after they had gotten a few good swipes at it. And if they should happen to return victorious—the thought made him dizzy. Perhaps, knowing full well that Thor could not conquer such a thing by himself, Loki would not receive so much disdain for his mastery of magic and trickery instead of brute force._

_“Hogun and Volstagg are with their fathers,” Loki pointed out, knocking away the easiest two opponents._

_“That is true. I had forgotten. But there is still Fandral and Sif!”_

_Loki sat back down on the bed with his arms crossed. “Fandral, I hear, has finally managed to secure the affections of that Lynn maiden. He plans to spend the day with her.”_

_“But think! Conquering the creature from Muspelheim would certainly make him impressive indeed in her eyes!”_

_Loki rolled his own eyes. “You know nothing of women, Thor. That is something to do when struggling for recognition. Now that she has finally consented to him, abandoning her for a day would make her angry at him for leaving her, not impressed at his bravery, which she would mistake for arrogance.”_

_Loki had no idea if that was correct or not, but Thor looked at him with respect. “Is that so, Loki?”_

_Loki nodded. Fortunately, Thor had respect for his intellect—though he often teased him because of his lack of physical prowess that made him so often refer to it—and so would usually believe anything he said._

_“That leaves Sif then,” said Thor, with a broad grin. Loki gave him a bewildered look, until Thor’s grin slowly faded. “What?”_

_“Just this morning during tutoring we received a message that she was feeling ill.”_

_Such a thing never happened. Thor never paid attention during tutoring. His face went a slight pink._

_“Oh. Of course. I had forgotten in the excitement of the prospect,” he said, and looked bitterly disappointed. Loki brought his tongue between his teeth, watching his face. This was the most tricky part. Thor might very well give up the whole idea if Sif could not join them. Loki could not deny that Sif was very attractive, both in her physical looks and her brash, yet intelligent, confidence, and he couldn’t help but long for her friendship. However, he held a kind of resentment towards her: so often it came down to a decision between her and Loki. A constant, bitter competition. It wasn’t fair; Loki was Thor’s brother. He shouldn’t _have _to compete for a place in his life. It didn’t help matters that she had long golden curls the same vibrant color as Thor’s hair. Often, Loki heard people talking about how well they looked together; how they could easily be brother and sister, they were so alike. More than once, he’d overheard people going so far as to say that it was a shame that Sif wasn’t Thor’s sibling in Loki’s place._

_“Well!” Thor bellowed, jerking Loki out of his thoughts. He slapped Loki on the back so hard that Loki nearly tumbled off of the bed and had to grab at the mattress to catch himself. “It will have to be an Odinson expedition then! We shall return the mighty Prince Warriors of Asgard!”_

_Loki hid his triumph with an exasperated, “Thor, you are entirely mad!”_

_Thor wanted to leave instantly, and Loki could only slow him down so much. He convinced him to go ask the servants for food (something unlikely to gain suspicion, since Thor was always asking for food), while Loki, unbeknownst to Thor, slipped away to the healers’ rooms. He had been spending time with Eir lately, struggling to learn how to heal with magic; something he found very difficult. His time paid off now, as nobody gave him a second glance, after the first one of distaste. He picked up some medical supplies in case one of them got hurt, including a jar of magical poultice used for nasty burns. These he hid in his clothing next to his throwing knives._

_Loki led them first, away from Asgard to the river, which was the exact opposite way Father had gone. Once out of sight of most people, Thor took the lead and they began to circle back around. They trekked through roundabout pathways that Loki found exhausting for several hours. He began to hope that they would see no sign of the creature. It was not unpleasant, however. Thor laughed and bantered, and Loki laughed and bantered right back, and it turned into a vigorous hike rather than a hunt, though Thor was still trying to track the creature, without success. Soon, Thor began to pester him for the provisions, despite that they’d eaten only two hours ago when Thor insisted on an afternoon snack._

_“We don’t have much left, Thor. How much longer will we stay out here? Do you plan to keep going after nightfall?”_

_“Of course! Fire is much more easily seen in the dark!”_

_He made it sound as if he’d been hunting these things all his life. Their argument turned heated, as Loki was hot, tired, and beginning to regret goading Thor into coming up with this idea._

_Loki pushed ahead of Thor as they came to a small river, still arguing, and stopped dead still. A deep black, scaled creature, little smaller than a bilgesnipe, crouched next to the water on the opposite side, glaring at them. Bright orange glowed from underneath the scales, and in the creature’s eyes and mouth. Loki stood paralyzed with shock as the creature looked at him. It gave a growling warning. Loki heard Thor take a breath that heralded a bellow—_

_The next instant something struck Loki’s chest and he flew backwards, hitting the ground with a hot flash of pain. Thor roared and a strange deep screech emitted from the creature, now on this side of the river, rising up on its hind legs in front of his brother._

_The thing had pounced at Loki, and Thor had thrown him backwards. Loki struggled to sit up._

_“Thor!” he croaked out of lungs that were very empty of air. His weak voice was swallowed in the conundrum. Thor struck at the creature with Mjolnir, and it danced to the side. Loki staggered to his feet, fumbling for his knives. The creature hunched down, circling Thor. Thor turned with it, swinging Mjolnir and throwing out taunts, his blue eyes alight with the delighted rage that frightened Loki._

_“Come on! Come at me!” he hollered. The creature twitched, and Loki had a knife in his hand. He saw the flick of the creatures tail before Thor did._

_It pounced, sliding underneath the hammerswing and its clawed hands grabbed Thor’s shoulders and pushed him back. Like lightening, Loki threw a dagger that hummed with rudimentary magic. Loki didn’t have the control for any truly deadly magic. It struck the creature’s shoulder with a flash of blue. The creature reared back and let out a cry of rage that sprayed glowing yellow drops of saliva. Thor blinked, rubbing one shoulder._

_It carried on like that for some time. Loki kept his distance and threw his knives—cowardly? Maybe. He couldn’t bring himself to come closer—and darts of magic. Until, finally, the creature wrenched Mjolnir from Thor’s grasp and bit down hard on his arm. It twisted and Thor flopped to the side like a rag doll, letting out a scream of pain that brought Loki’s heart into his throat. Yellow saliva rolled down Thor’s sleeve and onto his hand, searing it. Loki darted forward, knives in both hands, and leapt onto the creature’s back. He struck both knives deep into its flesh and pulled them down._

_The creature reared up and twisted. It got one of its clawed hands into Loki’s shirt and ripped him off. Loki flailed, the fabric tore, and he tumbled to the ground. He looked up to see the creature pouncing, spat out a desperate spell, and rolled out of the way. Thor was weeping in pain and shouting in rage. Loki crawled to him and clamped a hand over his mouth. Thor got the message and quieted, trembling, still letting out silent tears that wet Loki’s palm. They lay there on the ground, with Loki curled around Thor’s head, while the wounded creature lurched about, screaming, its eyes fiery with rage. It turned around in circles in confusion before finally shaking itself and running away, appearing to not be hurt badly at all._

_Loki went limp with relief and he let go of the spell._

_“What did you do, Brother?” Thor asked weakly._

_“Made us invisible,” Loki replied, sitting up. His torn shirt and leather jerkin fluttered, loose and uncomfortable. He dug in his clothing for the medicine. “Let me see your arm.”_

_Thor sat up and Loki took the injured appendage. The teeth had pierced the clothing and left torn places in the arm. The worst, though, was his hand, where the saliva had left savage burns on the back._

_Loki rolled up Thor’s sleeve, while Thor sat stiff and unmoving, biting his lip, and wet his fingers with the medicine. He added a bit of rudimentary healing magic that he’d managed to learn, to speed the healing process, and pressed his fingers to the punctures. Loki got to the hand and hesitated, feeling a little sick. The flesh was bubbling and blackening and stank horribly. Loki swallowed. This was his fault._

_“Brother,” Thor whispered. Loki glanced up. Sweat shone on Thor’s face and he looked terrified. It was a plea. “Brother, please.”_

_“Hush,” Loki replied, crossing his legs. He took Thor’s wrist and gently rested Thor’s hand on his knee. He poured more of the poultice into his palm, then let it slide slowly between his fingers, dripping onto Thor’s hand. He looked up again, but Thor had closed his eyes with his lips pressed together._

_Loki bit his lip. He covered the palm of his left hand in the poultice, and then slide his right hand under Thor’s and lifted it up, palm-to-palm. Thor let out a tiny, suppressed moan. Loki closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He concentrated, hard, until he felt a rush of healing magic gather on his left hand and mingle with the poultice. The effort was tremendous, and Loki became stiff, every muscle in his body tensed. With effort, he clamped the palm of his left hand down on the back of Thor’s. Thor gasped in pain, and then let out a little choked sound. Then a sigh._

_Little stars exploded behind Loki’s eyelids, but he didn’t stop._

_“Brother!”_

_Loki opened his eyes and looked down, surprised at the soft green mist that surrounded their hands. Sweat dripped down his face, and he began to tremble with the effort. The magic let out a little pulse and Loki let go, falling backward with a gasp._

_“Loki!” Thor caught him in the crook of his arm and pulled him back upright. “Are you all right?”_

_“Fine,” Loki managed, through his sudden bought of dizziness._

_Thor examined his hand with interest, but his relief soon became clouded with worry. “Loki…”_

_Loki looked at it as well, sighed, and closed his eyes. The injury, healed, had left a rough bright red scar. “I suppose they will notice the hawk on your hand.”_

_“They will know,” said Thor, sounding fearful. “Father will be furious.”_

_Loki rubbed his eyes. “I can try to fix it.”_

_“Can you?” Thor sounded hopeful and eager, like a child._

_“I can try,” Loki repeated, opening his eyes._

_“With the medicine you brought?”_

_“No. That would be like sewing tiny stitches with a broadsword. I have to do it with magic alone. Very specific magic. And it will take a long time.” Loki looked around him. “We can’t stay here.”_

_Thor scrambled to his feet and held out his hand to Loki. “We can go to Sif. She will house us for the night, and we can return home in the morning.”_

_Loki found himself too tired to come up with an argument. He took Thor’s hand and his brother pulled him to his feet. They began the long walk back to the city and safety. As they circled the outskirts to Sif’s home, Loki pulled his arm away from Thor and walked on his own. They made their way to the back, and Loki  stood behind Thor while his brother knocked._

_Sif opened her door to them and her eyes widened. “Thor! Where have you been?”_

_“We have been hunting,” said Thor, “Please, allow us in. We will need to spend the night.”_

_“Of course.” Sif opened the door wider, and, ignoring Loki completely, left him to shut the door while she walked ahead with Thor. She led them to her chambers._

_“I am exceedingly glad to see you in good health,” said Thor, as they both sat cross-legged on the floor. Loki poured himself a glass of water and breathed deeply before joining them, sitting a little apart. “How do you fare?”_

_“Fine,” said Sif, frowning in confusion. “What is going on? What have you been up to?”_

_“Loki and I went to hunt the creature from Muspelheim, against Father’s wishes,” Thor explained, his eyes dancing in excitement. Loki ran his fingers along the rim of his glass. “I was injured and the creature escaped. Loki was able to heal me, but he needs more time to get rid of the scar.” He looked apologetic. “I do not wish to pull you into our troubles and deceive Father, but…”_

_Sif raised her chin. “I would do anything for you, Thor,” she said, and then added with emphasis, “Though I do not like covering for other peoples’ adventures…I would much rather be a part of them.”_

_“Yes, I wanted you to come with us. It is most regrettable that you were unwell.”_

_Loki winced, and raised his eyes. Sif looked startled. “I…” she stopped, and Loki could see her mind working it out. She was cleverer than Thor. “I look forward to the next time,” she finished, and shot Loki a quick glance. Loki kept his face expressionless. She kept her face amiable, but her eyes were expressive—normally the most attractive part of her. Now they smoldered with hate and pointed feeling. Loki could read every unspoken word._

_‘ You little snake.’_

_She would have her revenge on him later, privately. She knew, Loki noted with satisfaction, that accusing Thor’s beloved little brother at this point in time (after saving him from certain death, he most likely thought) of lying to him, while would decrease Loki’s favor, it would also automatically decrease Sif’s favor as the bearer of bad news. So she kept it to herself._

_Out loud, she said, “How…fortunate that Loki escaped injury.” _

_Thor smiled. “Loki is much quicker on his feet than I,” he said. Truthfully. “In fact, he called out to me every time the creature was about to strike, so that I could get out of the way.”_

_“Except for the time it wounded you,” Sif said. That was a definite accusation._

_“Nay. He did. Only that time I was not quick enough.”_

_Loki glanced sideways at Thor, surprised at this praise, and gratified. He realized Thor must truly have been in intense pain from the poison of the Muspelheim creature. He basked in the warmth extending from his brother in this rare moment of being the object of awed worship. Of course the one time his actions brought such warm reception they would have to remain secret._

_“I had better start,” said Loki quietly._

_Thor turned, and then frowned. “Brother, I had forgotten about your torn clothing.” He looked apologetically at Sif. She rolled her eyes._

_“What about your clothes, Thor?”_

_“I am always tearing my clothing. Mother will not notice. Loki is another matter.”_

_“I can mend it myself,” said Loki, tightly._

_“Nay,” said Thor. “You will be working to repair my hand, will you not? Do you intend to stay up all the hours of the night?”_

_“Don’t argue with him, Loki,” said Sif, addressing him for the first time, and looking irritated. “You know how he is when he gets this stubborn. Give me your shirt.”_

_Under Thor’s commanding eye and Sif’s withering gaze, Loki, entirely uncomfortable, removed the torn clothing and handed them to Sif. His midsection became cold, and he tried to forget about the inappropriateness of a prince of Asgard being half-naked in the presence of a maiden—even if she was a warrior maiden—and his embarrassment at his obvious scrawniness._

_“I warn you,” she said. “It will be clumsily and awkwardly done, though hopefully not instantly noticeable.”_

_“No matter,” Loki muttered, extremely uncomfortable. He tried to put from his mind the awkwardness of the situation as he took the hand Thor trustingly offered him._

_“Do you need anything, Loki?” Sif said, with more clear unspoken words. ‘ The only reason I’m asking is because I want you to keep Thor from getting into trouble.’_

_“No,” Loki replied, happy to deny her, with unspoken words of his own. ‘I most certainly do not need _ your _help.’_ _“Now Thor, do not squirm or chat. I need to concentrate.”_

_“Will it hurt?” Thor asked._

_“I don’t know,” said Loki, honestly. He didn’t even know what he was about to do. “I would not think so, since it is already healed. It may tickle or itch though. You need to hold still. And do not talk.” He relished giving this command. He really did prefer quiet when working, but he had a mean feeling of satisfaction in keeping Thor and Sif from conversation. Loki took one last sip of water from the glass, held Thor’s hand in his own, and pressed his fingertips of his other hand to the scars, his mind detached from his surroundings and he worked._

_He took several short breaks that night, but never for long, and he refused to sleep, as that would make him lose his place in the healing process. Thor did sleep, leaning against the wall. Sif did as well, when she finished the mending, leaning against Thor, with her hair spilling across his shoulder, as Loki worked in a small circle of lamplight._

_It was beginning to grey outside when he finished, utterly exhausted, and trembling from fatigue. Healing took much more mental power than physical, but the slow constant thrumming of magic took its toll._

I’ll never make a healer, _was Loki’s last thought. He lay down his head on the hard floorboards, apart from Thor and Sif, and was instantly asleep._

_The results of his work were splendid, however, and Thor’s overjoyed “Thank you, Brother!” and suffocating hug when he awoke more than made up for it. When they returned, using a well-placed half-truth from Sif, all the admonishment they received was a lecture on taking off and staying away all night without informing Mother of their plans—especially with a dangerous fire-monster around._

_From that day onward, whenever Thor departed on a mission, he often made a joke about how, if he were injured, he would employ Loki’s help in making sure his charming physique was not marred. A private reference. One that Loki appreciated every time. Something Thor was still grateful for. Something that attached them._

ɤ

Two servants came in to feed him while he slept. Loki awoke, but gave no sign. He felt cold creep throughout his body. One servant held the stone in the cloth and bent over him. The other yawned, fingering the clamp at his belt as he stood at Loki’s head.

And it was a simple thing to cross his wrists, throw the looped chain over the first servant’s head and pull it tight, snapping the neck. The other one gasped in shock and let out a cry. Loki jerked up and snatched at the clamp, simultaneously pulling the other servant closer to him and tearing the weapon away from his belt. He flipped it around and stabbed.

The body fell over him. Loki sat up and pushed it away, amid the splatter of Asgardian blood. He took the clamp and closed it around the chain in the wall. He wrenched and it snapped. He then held the clamp, pointed toward himself, as he closed it between his wrists and twisted. This was harder, and the small magic in the chains fought it. But Loki twisted, the metal groaned, and then slowly, reluctantly, almost melted in half.

The release was delicious, the shooting pains changing to throbbing. Loki took up the stone, the two dead chain ends dangling from his wrists, wrapping it tightly in the cloth and holding it in the crook of his arm while he left the cell through the un-barricaded door. 

Heimdall must not be watching now, or the alarm would have been sounded. Loki went swiftly through the dungeons, picking up a sack in which he put the clamp and the original stone, plus two other stones he found in the storerooms. Then he ran through the palace, expertly avoiding memorized guard positions, to his old chambers.

The doors were locked, and Loki felt no twinge of regret as he snapped them with the clamp and pushed them open. He would have preferred to use magic, but it was so weak that he could not feel it at all.

Fortunately, he did not need his magic here to teleport. Loki crossed the room without a second glance at his old wardrobe or round bed and drew a tapestry away from the wall. The invisible void tickled his fingers and he smiled as much as the string would allow.

_Hello, Lovely._

Its presence could only be felt and used by strong magic users. Others could only use it with help from magic users. The void would gladly accept him, even with his weak magic, but he would have no control over where it took him. He would have to pray for fortune.

Behind him, a horn blew. His absence was discovered. Without a backward glance, Loki stepped forward.

In the empty room, the tapestry fluttered back into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the flashback sequences weren't too extensive. They both establish necessary ground. ;)  
> Stay tuned! Avengers coming in next week! :)  
> ~caramell


	3. Loose

Loki ran. No sooner did he land in one place then he sought out another portal and transported again, so that he changed locations every few days. He stayed away from populated areas—the outlaw brand reflected blue whenever any sort of light hit it and was impossible to miss—and ran from Chitauri and Aesir alike. It would be difficult for even a powerful magic user to track him, and Heimdall could not look everywhere at once.

He could last much longer without food and drink than the mortals, and he hoarded the feeding stones. He didn’t use them at all the first week, and then he only pressed one against himself for a few seconds before putting it away again.                 

His magic began stir again, but he did not use it for fear of weakening himself. It needed time to recover.

At the end of the second week, Loki found himself in the woods of Alfheim and startled a hunter. His gaze flitted over Loki’s brand and immediately trained his arrow on him. Loki held up his hands in a peaceful gesture, his throat aching to speak. The hunter’s eyes narrowed, and let loose the arrow. Loki dived under it and tackled him. They grappled on the ground, Loki striking his face with the ends of his chains. The hunter drew a knife and stabbed it into Loki’s arm. Loki breathed in sharply and kicked the hunter back, grasping the hilt and yanking it back out of his flesh and throwing it. The hunter struck it away with his palm, but while distracted Loki leapt onto him, locking his unwounded arm around the hunter’s throat and strangling him. Then, staggering up and holding his arm as blood gushed out over his hand, Loki fled the scene. Later that evening, he had to use the stones longer, as he struggled to heal his arm.

During the third week, Loki teleported to Niflheim. He gasped as he stepped into knee-deep snow. The cold pierced him like a thousand large needles, welcoming and dangerous, and he stood shivering for a moment. Then he clasped his arms about himself and began to wade through the dry snow. Shards of ice that flew with the wind attacked his face, and Loki felt himself grow numb. 

_I do make a splendid Frost Giant,_ Loki thought with annoyance and worry. Could he freeze to death in this form? He wondered if he could shift back, but the only times he had succeeded had been when touching another Jotun or the Casket. He didn’t know why, when he could shift into anything else, but Jotun was closed to him.

Well, he couldn’t freeze so long as he kept moving. So he did, forcing his way through the snow, which grew deeper, and came up to his waist in places. When he could, he climbed on hills of snow with ice crusted over the surface. Once, though, he broke through and for several uncomfortable seconds he was over his head in the snow. 

After a day like this, Loki began to grow very worried. He could sense no portal, or magic of any kind, and he shook so hard that he sometimes couldn’t see straight. Ice formed on his clothes, and his movements grew slow and clumsy. At last he stopped and pulled out one of the stones and pressed it against his stomach. His eyes grew wide as the heat seared his skin. But he held it there, trying to ignore the vicious burning. The last of its power left it, and Loki dropped it into the snow and drew out the second stone, holding it to him until he felt revived. He carefully re-wrapped it and put it away. 

_Now._

He continued.

ɤ

_Loki fingered a piece of his hair while he bent over a book on the pathways of Yggdrasil, his legs drawn up as he sat at the head of his bed. Faint laughter and music blew into his room along with the breeze, though the open door that led onto his balcony. A soft knock. Loki put his finger on his place on the page and asked a question to which he already knew the answer._

_“Who is it?”_

_“It is your mother, Loki.”_

_Loki dismissed the locking spell and Frigga entered. “Hello, Mother.”_

_“Hello, Loki,” Frigga stood next to his bed, her hands clasped in front of him. An awkward silence descended as they looked at each other, until Frigga ventured, “It was a lovely ceremony, was it not?”_

_“Yes,” Loki said, without sarcasm. “Very nice. Please sit down, Mother, you are making me uncomfortable.”_

_Frigga sat on the edge of his bed. “You treated your brother very graciously tonight, Loki.”_

_Loki smiled. “Well, it is not like it came like a surprise. We have grown up knowing it would be Thor.”_

_“Not necessarily, Loki,” Frigga said, with a small frown._

_Loki shrugged, still smiling. “Thor is the greater leader, he has many friends, and he has Mjolnir.”_

_“Mjolnir came to Thor because he was the firstborn, not because he was to be named heir,” Frigga said. “Had you been born first, you would have acquired Mjolnir.”_

_Loki chuckled. “Had I been born first, I would not have been myself.”_

_Frigga smiled. “True. I am glad of that.”_

_Loki looked back down at his book, ignoring for a while the silence that he knew was making Frigga uncomfortable. “I would think that you would be speaking with Thor tonight,” he said. “It is his night, after all.”_

_“Thor is still out in the celebration, and I am tired,” Frigga said._

_Loki let the following silence continue to make Frigga uncomfortable before he spoke. “Then you should go to bed, Mother.”_

_“Yes, I should,” Frigga stood. “Will you not go to bed also?”_

_“Not yet. This is my favorite time of night,” Loki said, truthfully._

_“Then goodnight, my son.”_

_“Goodnight, Mother.”_

_After she left, Loki spent more long hours studying the book. He felt as though some pieces were missing in the explanations of the Bifrost and the branches of the tree, but he couldn’t see what. His eyes grew heavy and his head rested against the pages._

_He jerked back awake he didn’t know how much later._

_Branches had twigs and leaves, did they not? Loki rolled his neck to ease a cramp and slid out of bed. The night air had grown colder, and the music had ceased, though he could still hear a few voices floating up from the gardens. Loki went out onto the balcony and leaned against the railing, breathing in the fresh air._

_Twigs and leaves. Why did that seem significant?_

_His gaze wandered downwards and rested against a few small trees that he and Thor had climbed as children._

_Twigs and leaves. Because there were thousands of them. And they touched each other; not just their brothers and sisters of the same branch, but the other branches. Loki stiffened. They wove spindly pathways that never touched the trunk. Loki raced back to his bed and threw open the book, reading passages through it once more._

_No, no, he hadn’t seen that in here. He hadn’t seen that anywhere. Loki shut the book and pressed his fingers to his forehead._

_What if there were ways to travel other than the branches of Yggdrasil and the Bifrost? His thoughts raced ahead. What if there were forests? The branches, twigs and leaves of trees in thick forests touched other trees. What if—what if—_

_What if there were more universes than Yggdrasil?_

_The voices floated up from the gardens once more. Happy, contented voices. What would they have sounded like if Loki had been proclaimed heir?_

_No, no, that didn’t matter. He had more important things to think about. Loki put on a cloak and went back to the balcony, climbing over the railing. Some time ago he had found a short pathway in the crooks and crannies of the design on the outer walls partway down, and when he got close enough to the ground, he jumped. Loki made his way through the mostly quiet city with periodic, merriment-filled pockets until he got to the outskirts, where the forest began._

_Loki wandered through the trees, brushing them with his hands, and struggling to put pieces together in his mind. Once, he felt as though the world had disappeared. He stood as if frozen for a few seconds, and then, quiet suddenly, he felt the breeze on his face and the ground beneath his feet once more. He stayed out there until the sun rose, and then he began the slow walk back to the palace._

_He received disinterested glances from the few people who took any notice of him, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was on the verge of discovering something extraordinary._

ɤ

A few hours passed, and Loki began to feel frozen again. At least this numbness helped his mouth to feel more pain-free than it had since being sewn shut. He cupped his hands around his ears for a moment. Far off ahead, the wind gave a strange groaning wail. Loki uncovered his ears and it stopped. He frowned.

It came again. Loki stopped walking, staring into the whirling snow, then turned and started in a different direction.

The cry came, further off. And then again, still further off. Once more. Closer.

Loki switched directions again.

And again. Closer.

Loki changed direction once more, headed back in his original direction. Hurrying, he didn’t feel quite so cold as he strained for any sound. Loki glanced over his shoulder. Nothing. He went faster. And then stopped.

There! Magic! He could feel it. Another place for a portal. Relieved, Loki started towards it. It was far off, but now he had a place to go. He glanced over his shoulder again and he was looking back towards the front before his mind registered that he’d seen a huge shape outlined in white.

Loki spun around. Something crashed into him and he flew backwards, landing facedown in the snow and sliding for several yards. He sat up, scrabbling at his face. The shape lumbered towards him again, fur white and outlined in blue, face shaped like a huge lizard with shining white eyes. It charged on its three legs.

Loki realized, with dread sinking into his stomach, that the extra energy the feeding gave him must have heightened his scent. He grabbed for his clamp, but it wasn’t hanging from his belt. He looked behind the creature as it gathered itself for a bound and saw its black shape in the snow.

_Damn._

The creature leapt and Loki threw himself back, panicked. Instinct took over, built through years of danger-filled expeditions, and his mind screamed out.

_Heimdall!_

Deprived of his voice, his thoughts fueled with adrenaline raced across the cosmos to the Guardian. But not fast enough.

The creature landed on top of Loki, its jaws striking down like a snake’s. Loki rolled to the side, grabbing at the snow, and felt _something_ flash out of himself. He lay still. The creature stopped, blinking, suddenly at a loss. It reared up on its hind legs, looking about, then landed, sniffing. It turned in circles, scratched its ears, and then, finally, lumbered off.

Loki lay shaking in the snow for a moment before realizing what had happened. 

He was invisible. Not just by sight, but by sound, smell, and almost touch. He sat up slowly, hanging desperately onto the spells and thanking his magic, once again, for not abandoning him. The spells were strong and all-encompassing: he was even hidden from Heimdall’s eyes. 

_Just as well, you fool._ He chastised himself. _Why did you cry out?_

Carefully, Loki let go of most of the invisibility, keeping his Heimdall-invisibility intact. The most difficult part of spells was casting them. Holding onto just one, once it was cast, was eventually tiring, but not difficult. Loki got to his feet and retrieved the clamp. He was hidden for now, but Heimdall would hear his call and know his general whereabouts. Loki trudged forward for another day until he found the portal and left Niflheim behind.

ɤ

Eventually Loki had to admit to himself that he was stuck. Days after he used up the last stone, he stood on a mountain (he believed he was in Alfheim again), leaning against the rock wall and thinking. He had confronted and killed another would-be bounty hunter two days ago, and he simply had nowhere to go. He could continue circling, but even he would eventually starve to death. He could conjure up some sustenance, but it was awkward doing it on yourself; it was like taking energy and converting it into energy for yourself to consume, which, unless you were extremely good and in peak condition, didn’t do any net good. Water—or, rather, ice—was easier, so being hydrated wasn’t a problem.

Strangely, as he himself grew weaker, his magic seemed to grow stronger and more real than the world around him. Not that he had the strength to cast a good deal, but it simmered beneath his skin, soothing and comforting. The last power he had left. Loki desperately missed his voice. Often, he would attempt to speak—to himself, to the animals, or to the rare people he met and then had to kill—and frustration would hit him like a stone wall when he remembered that he could not. 

He thought up a thousand ways that Asgard would probably love to kill him if he were recaptured. They could add a spell onto the thread that would bring him to a torturous death if they wished. Loki would rather commit suicide before allowing that to happen. But even without Asgard, he faced starvation, bounty hunters, and time. He thought back and approximated that he still had four months until his calculated year was up and the Chitauri might find him. He could only think of one person in the universe who might help him.

Thor.

Loki took a deep breath, smelling the faint aroma of far-off flowers. He closed his eyes. He knew where Thor and the Avengers resided—the tower that he had made the base of his attack. But he didn’t want to just show up. He didn’t know how Thor would react. _Perhaps_ Thor would help him, _perhaps_ he would listen, but Loki didn’t know. He might, with apologies and wistful looks, drag him right back to Asgard. And Loki wouldn’t be able to stop him.

No. He had to gage Thor first. To see how he might react. Thor had to guess and agree to Loki’s purpose. Loki had to see Thor’s reaction to his return, without actually returning. Loki frowned, and then his expression relaxed.

He would simply remind Thor of himself. Through tricks, naturally. Loki smiled at the prospect. He could greatly disturb the Avenger residence with relatively harmless—but undoubtedly Loki-like—tricks. Sooner or later, Thor would guess. And Loki could stand invisible to see what he thought.

His mind made up, Loki straightened and held his hands out in front of him, concentrating. He’d picked this place to stop and think because of the magic that lingered in the air and stone here, supporting and sustaining him. Using his own, he managed to tear a small rift. On the other side was New York City. Loki turned invisible and stepped through. It snapped shut behind him.

ɤ

Loki entered Stark Tower on a mid-afternoon, and it appeared that the Avengers were not home. Loki took the opportunity to explore its many levels. He found a particular corner of the basement, used for storage, that he thought he could sleep undisturbed. Well, he thought ‘sleep’, but in reality it would be a doze—Loki was unsure if he could hold his invisibilities while truly sleeping. He did not want to risk it.

When he heard the sound of the Avengers returning, Loki stood very still in a room near the front door. He was surprised at the pounding of his own heart and the tenseness of his shoulders.  

Captain America entered first, followed by a very tired-looking human-form Hulk—Loki glowered at him even though he couldn’t see—who held a cloth draped about his shoulders. Hawkeye/Clint Barton and Black Widow/Natasha Romanov soon followed. They all laughed and jostled each other, and Loki relaxed a little at the reassurance that nobody knew he was there. 

Iron Man/Tony Stark came last, still clanking in his armor, and chatting a little too loudly with a…strangely quiet Thor.

Loki stiffened again at the sight of his once-brother. Thor nodded, and smiled, and had a few snarky comments himself, but he was subdued. He did not shine like he once did. Loki frowned. 

He shadowed the various Avengers through the remainder of the day, learning habits, watching interactions, seeing what would annoy them most. Near the evening, right before dinner—which, to Loki’s surprise, Captain America was cooking—he witnessed a conversation between Thor and Captain America.

“You should be celebrating with the rest of us, Thor,” the Captain said, stirring a large pot of red stew. 

“I am celebrating, Steve,” Thor said, with a little smile.

“Not like you used to.” Captain America—Steve, evidentially—gestured to a cabinet. Thor obediently took out a stack of bowls and began to set the table; a scene so comically domestic that Loki, had his voice been free, would have had a very hard time to keep from laughing at.

“I know, Captain, I am sorry…” Thor mumbled.

“You don’t have to be sorry, Thor. I’m just worried about you.”

Thor sighed, and his eyes looked suddenly watery. He blinked quickly and Steve, glancing at Thor’s face, looked quickly back down at the stew and pretended not to notice. “I just…miss my brother.”

Loki’s eyebrows shot up. He hadn’t been expecting that.

_Grieving over me, are we? Little late for that. What did you expect when you abandoned me?_

“I know,” Steve said quietly. “Take your time. But remember it isn’t a crime to celebrate with your team.”

Thor just nodded, blinking again, and Loki looked at him in amazement. That he took such parental-like advice (order?) to heart from such a young mortal astonished him. Loki rolled his eyes, and then left the kitchen before the appetizing smell made his hunger turn into nausea. 

ɤ

A few days later, at seven o’clock in the morning, Tony Stark awoke to an annoyingly polite—and, by now, very loud—voice.

“Sir. Sir. Mr. Stark. Sir!”

“Jarvis,” Tony groaned, dragging his face across the pillow until his head was turned. He kept his eyes shut. “Is this important?”

JARVIS calculated for a moment. “I suppose it isn’t urgent. But you instructed me to tell you of any disturbances in your lab.”

Tony cracked his eyes open. “Disturbances?” he muttered. “What kind of disturbances?”

“Nothing urgent,” JARVIS confirmed. 

“Well I’m awake now, so tell me what it is.” Tony sat up and groaned, holding his head.

“It seems someone has been tampering with the settings.”

Tony jerked his head up and scooted off of the bed, still dressed in his clothes from the night before. “Like a virus?” he asked, beginning to be worried.

“I don’t know, sir,” said JARVIS. “It’s unfamiliar to my sensors.”

Tony rubbed his eyes and staggered from the room. “I swear, I’m going to uninstall the cryptic setting in your voice one of these days.”

“I don’t have a cryptic setting, sir.”

“I know, but I’m going to have to do it all the same.” Tony plodded down to the lab, opened the doors…and let out a hoarse shriek that made his own ears ring and his headache throb in protest.

He leapt in and slammed the doors shut behind him. “JAR-VIS! What do you mean this isn’t URGENT? How could this, in ANY sense of the word, NOT be URGENT?”

“You programmed me to use Miss Potts’ definition of urgent,” said JARVIS.

“Well, scratch that and put in my definition!” Tony began tapping desperately at the screens. “What happened in here?”

“I don’t know, sir,” JARVIS said, “It simply seems to be a settings change, done from a distance.”

Tony jerked his head up. “Jarvis, lock the doors,” he said, just as one opened and Steve walked in. 

Steve looked blankly around the room for a moment, and then, with a badly suppressed smile, stated. “Tony, all of your screens are pink.”

“I know,” Tony said miserably, looking around in dismay at the various shades of pink and purple covering his gear—but mostly pink. 

A pause. “Tony, why are your screens pink?”

“A practical joke, a virus, something,” Tony growled. “And I’ll raise Hell if I ever find out who…all the settings are LOCKED.” he stared at the frozen screen, and then looked across at Steve with a suspicious scowl. “It wasn’t you, was it?”

Steve raised one hand in a defensive gesture. “Tony, I can barely log in to my own email account.”

“Good point.” Tony sighed, and then looked pleadingly at him. “Hey, Cap, could you…not tell people what’s going on in here? Especially Natasha. I’d never hear the end of it.” It wasn’t the color itself that was bothering him—okay, that was part of it—it was the fact that somebody _else_ had done it, intentionally, to get onto his nerves. Somebody _else_ had hacked into his highly-secure systems and changed his settings to that particularly useless, unmanly color. 

Steve shrugged. “Your secret’s safe with me,” he said, still looking amused.

“I doubt that. You’re terrible at hiding things. Oh well, I’ll just lock up and not let anybody in until it’s fixed.” Tony pointed to the door. “You. Out. Unless you want to be trapped in here for a few hours.”

It took more than a few hours, and Tony was at a loss as to how—and why—a virus would change color settings and then freeze all the computers. The codes were all randomly scrambled. He couldn’t find a pattern anywhere and had to go through them one by one. In the evening, he finally got everything back to normal, and then he spent another hour carefully locking everything back up.

He straightened and rolled his neck to rid it of the painful kinks. “Well, that was an entire day wasted,” he grumbled to nothing as he downed the last of his vodka. “And I’ll be damned if I’m going to spend one more minute inside--” he turned towards the suitcase that was his latest model and froze.

The red had turned to pink.

Tony slowly backed away as if it was possessed, blinking hard. “You know, Jarvis, for the first time in my life, I’m going to say I’ve had too much to drink,” he said, then turned and fled the room.

The next morning he crept back in, almost terrified of what he might find, but everything was normal, including the suit. Tony collapsed into a chair, relieved. 

Bruce came into the room holding a folded newspaper in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. “What were you doing in here all day yesterday?”

“Defending my masculinity,” Tony replied.

“Huh?”

“Don’t ask, ‘cause I won’t tell. If I ever find out it was you, though, run for your life.”

“I don’t think the Other Guy would appreciate you trying to kill me,” said Bruce, looking completely bewildered. 

“There’s a first time for everything,” Tony answered, and would say nothing more about it.

ɤ

Mysterious culprit-less pranks skyrocketed in the Stark Tower over the next two weeks. Clint’s arrows were super-glued into his favorite quiver, and he didn’t discover it until they were already out on a mission. He spent the next hour cursing as he resorted to dancing about with knives—something he was also excellent at, but it was extremely annoying to revert to something without mini-grappling hooks, bombs, and other handy gadgets while his quiver was still full. And Natasha wouldn’t share her guns.

Bruce could never seem to find his glasses at the right time, and they showed up in all the wrong places: in the trash can in the kitchen, at the bottom of the swimming pool, behind the drier in the laundry room, in the middle of the hallway floor. It happened so much that Bruce got thoroughly irritated—a dangerous prospect—and Tony special-ordered ten duplicates of the glasses so when one went missing, Bruce could just go get another pair.

Every male Avenger woke up one morning to find at least one pair of feminine undergarments in their dresser drawers. Clint had an extra under his pillow. Under the stern eye of the lone female Avenger and Pepper Potts, the Avengers sheepishly filed past and returned Natasha’s underwear to the correct room and drawer. The next morning, almost every male avenger woke up to find his own underwear flapping in the breeze on a makeshift clothesline on the top of Stark tower, where news helicopters were already gathering. A press conference chalked up the incident to mischievous aliens. Loki found this hysterically ironic. Fury was not amused, but nobody dared confront the culprit. Loki noted, with interest, that the one person Natasha spared the ordeal was Steve Rogers. His undergarments stayed safely in his drawer.

One evening, as Tony crashed in the rec room with the huge TV, he found the only thing on all the channels anywhere was “My Little Pony”.

“What is this, Tony?” Thor asked, looking curiously at the prancing pink and blue ponies singing about magical friendship as Tony flipped through the channels at an amazing pace to try and find something else.

“It’s a TV show,” said Tony, throwing down the useless remote. Then he looked at Thor with a mischievous glint in his eye and an innocent smile. “The largest demographic is 18 to 35 year old men.”

“Demographic?” Thor questioned. Loki rolled his eyes. Tony remained patient.

“Yeah. The people who watch it are primarily 18 to 35 year old men.”

“Truly?” Thor looked even more curious and he settled his huge frame on the couch. Loki convulsed in silent laughter, which sent his mouth to throbbing. He couldn’t have planned it better himself. He should have tried harder to take over Stark’s mind instead of Barton’s. It would have been so much more fun.

Tony proceeded to fill his ears with cotton and sat down on a beanbag chair to read a scientific magazine. Thor continued to watch the show, with a puzzled frown on his face. Pepper Potts entered the room a few minutes later, and the sight sent her into hysterics.

“Thor! Why are you watching My Little Pony?” she gasped out between giggles. Thor turned his solemn face on her.

“Tony informed me that the largest demographic is 18 to 35 year old men.” 

“Tony!” Pepper grabbed a newspaper and thwacked Tony over the head with it. Tony cringed under the blow, grinning, and went back to his magazine. “I don’t know how you believed him. No men in their right minds would watch this show.”

“It did seem to be a strange choice,” said Thor.

Tony pulled the cotton out of one ear. “It’s true though. That is the largest demographic.”

“Well, the country’s insane,” said Pepper. She looked back at the screen and burst into giggles. Thor looked from the screen to her and back to the screen. He began to smile. Pepper plopped down next to her and turned up the volume. Tony stuffed the cotton back in his ears.

Soon, both Pepper and Thor roared with laughter—well, Thor roared; Pepper merely laughed—at the antics of the ponies. Loki’s earlier glee changed to grim amusement, and he stood with his arms crossed, watching them.

The door opened again a full episode later. Loki let out his breath, disgust lurching up into his throat. Jane Foster stood in the doorway, taking in the scene.

“THOR!” she practically screeched.

Thor turned around on the couch. “Jane!” he threw his arms wide and would have clobbered Pepper if she hadn’t ducked. “Come, join us!” he hollered with a huge grin. “Twilight Sparkle and her friends are seeking out the Elements of Harmony!”

“To defeat Nightmare Moon!” Added Pepper, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.

“Thor, you are NOT turning into a Brony!” Jane ordered. “Turn that thing off!”

“But without the Elements of Harmony, the decree of Eternal Night shall stay in place, and Princess Celestia--”

“I don’t care!” Jane leapt forward and snatched up the remote, pressing buttons until the TV switched off. Thor let out a howl of protest. Enjoying the scene, Loki switched it back on. Jane switched it off. Loki switched it on, and then sent a stream of magic that made the remote shower sparks.

“Hey!” Tony looked up. “Don’t break my stuff!”

“Heellllpp meee!” Jane wailed. 

“Come Jane,” Thor said, beaming again. “This show teaches many good principles.”

“To little girls, sure! They’re a bunch of magic ponies!” Jane protested.

“Magic ponies exist,” Thor said, blinking big innocent eyes at her. 

Jane’s resolve seemed to melt and she giggled. “On Asgard maybe, but this is Earth, and this show is stupid.” She turned around as another Avenger stood in the doorway. “Clint, help me!”

Clint raised his eyebrows. “I think this is beyond me,” he said, looking at the screen with distaste. “Uh…think of the bad publicity?” he tried without conviction.

“Thanks a lot, Clint,” groaned Jane. Thor and Pepper glanced at each other, and then they both leapt up and tackled Clint, dragging him into the room.

“What the—what are you--” he hollered as they sat him down on the couch. Thor wrapped both of his huge arms around Clint’s midsection and Pepper turned up the volume even further.

“Friendship is magic! Friendship is magic!” they chanted into Clint’s ear while he struggled, making strange sounds that seemed like a mixture between cries of rage and hysterical laughter. 

The chaos grew until it drew both Natasha and Bruce, which lead to more tackles and teasing and uproarious laughing.

Loki went stiff watching them, all of his previous amusement gone. He cut his hand through the air and the connection cut out.

“Aww…” Pepper moaned in disappointment, clicking the useless buttons on the dead remote. Loki stalked out of the room.

ɤ

Loki rifled through Tony’s belongings with stiff, jerky motions. He was angry. Thor continued to be oblivious to his presence, and had become quite cheery since the Pony incident. His constant playful teasing—Thor, _teasing—_ often turned into a full on banter-battle between him and Jane. He seemed for have forgotten the “brother” he claimed to have and love. Loki’s resentment towards Jane Foster grew whenever he saw them together. She must be the reason Thor was blind. It was ruining Loki’s plans. It didn’t help that the Avengers now took enjoyment from pranking each other.

Almost a month had passed, and _nothing_ had happened. Loki hid and dozed for most of the day now; his limbs felt too weak to support his weight for long. Simply walking made him light-headed. If he wanted to get attention, he had to turn things a little more nasty.

Loki found a magazine with a questionable cover stuffed among a pile of dirty t-shirts. He pulled it out and flipped through the lewd photos and text with a blank expression. He then returned it to its spot and left the room.

Until now, Loki had left Steve Rogers alone; primarily because nothing really seemed to ruffle him. The Avengers usually left him alone as well, besides extremely harmless pranks, and he almost never got blamed for pranks around the tower. He seemed to be held above suspicion. The only real adult in the group. 

Now, Loki entered his room holding a copy of _Newsweek_ that had come in the mail earlier that morning. He had searched Steve’s room some time before and, not finding anything interesting besides an old photo of a beautiful young woman with “Peggy” written on the back, he had not returned. Now Loki sat down on Steve’s blue bedspread—on a bed neatly made—and opened the magazine. He ran his fingers down the text of the first article. Steve, he knew, usually read news cover-to-cover, believing no information to be below his interest and duty to know about. Loki began to change the words, subtly, adding mild Midgardian profanity at the beginning, and changing it to worse and worse curses and vulgarity. Then he turned the page, did the same with the text, and changed the photo to a mostly-clothed woman in a questionable position. He turned the page once more, and erased all text except one large sentence asking the reader to do something physically impossible with the photo that he changed to full-blown two-page pornography. He glanced to the photo on the dresser, and expertly changed the face of the woman.

Steve wouldn’t go any further than that, so Loki stopped there as an ache began behind his eyes. He shook his head to clear the feeling, and turned to the back cover. On the square of text with the address and recipient’s name, he added a line of text below Steve’s name so that it read,

To: Steve Rogers

From: Peggy

As a final touch, he carefully etched a faint outline of the photo of the woman behind the words, only to be noticed upon closer inspection. He set the magazine front-cover-up on the bed for Steve to find. Then he sat down in a corner to wait for the fireworks.

Loki dozed off before Steve finally arrived, but he snapped awake and sat up straight as soon as the doorknob jingled. Steve entered, humming, plopped down a basket of rumpled laundry on the top of his dresser, and began arranging it in a semi-organized manner in the drawers. Loki leaned against the wall, gaze flickering from Steve to the bed and back again. Steve finished putting away his laundry before spotting the bait on his bed. His eyes lit up and he glanced at his watch. Then, leisurely, he picked up his pillow and balanced it against the headboard before sitting down with his back rested against it. He then picked up the magazine, scanning the headlines on the front, and opening it to the first article and beginning to read.

He raised his eyebrows, looking surprised. A little further on, his forehead wrinkled, then smoothed out, and then wrinkled again. His eyes became slits and he held the magazine away from his face as he continued reading, his face becoming the picture of surprise and disgust. He stopped and turned the page. Loki sat bolt upright, watching him. Steve glanced at the photo with a frown, then started reading again, letting out a little noise in his throat as he began to look bewildered. He turned the page once more, let out a little sharp gasp, his eyes growing wide, and slammed the magazine shut. He stared at the front cover, his face coloring. Looking dumbstruck, he flipped it over to study the back. He started to put the magazine down, froze, and bent closer.

Steve sucked in his breath sharply, going rigid. His knuckles went white and the pages of the magazine crumpled and tore in his tightening grip. He leapt off of the bed and practically ran from the room, still holding the magazine. Loki jumped up and followed.

A minute later, Steve burst into the rec room, with Loki at his heels. The conversation instantly hushed, as the Avengers present—Tony, Natasha, and Clint—looked at Steve in astonishment.

“I want to know who is responsible for this!” Steve yelled, and Loki saw that Steve was angry—really, and truly angry. Absolutely lividly furious. Something that Loki had never seen before, and made him glad that he was at the moment invisible. “I know we’ve been joking around a lot, but—WHAT the _HELL_?” Steve waved the magazine in front of their faces by turning in a semi-circle. Tony sprawled on a couch, while Natasha and Clint stood side by side. “Read my lips: _THIS! IS! NOT! FUNNY!”_ Steve breathed hard, face bright crimson with rage, fists clenched around the magazine.

“Um, Steve,” Natasha ventured. “You’re holding _Newsweek_.”

“It’s pornography,” Steve said bluntly.

“Porn?” Tony ventured. “Jeez, Steve. Did someone diss the president? I hate to break it to you, but that’s not porn. That’s free speech.”

“I’m not kidding, Tony.” Steve fixed him with a steely glare. “There are pictures of--” Steve faltered, and then said it anyway. “--undressed women in here, and—some of it--” he cut himself off. “It was on my bed.” He slapped the magazine facedown on the table, ripping a few more pages in the process.

Tony looked at it, then up at Steve, and started to laugh. “Someone planted a porn magazine that looks like Newsweek in your room? Oh man, I wish I’d thought of that!”

“Tony, this isn’t funny!” Steve was shouting again. “I’m thinking you _did_ think of it!” he stabbed a finger in Tony’s face. “I’ll—report you to—someone! Fury! I can take some joking, but this—this is---this is _childish_ and _stupid_ and completely--” Steve broke off, face twisting as his body quivered.

“Woah, woah,” Tony held up his hands, cringing, and looking a little frightened. “I can understand you’re upset, Steve, but…”

Clint nudged Natasha and pointed to the magazine, muttering something in her ear. Natasha picked it up and studied the back cover. “Tony,” she said quietly.

He looked over at her. “What?”

She leaned over the table and pointed to the name.

“Peggy?” Tony read out loud, scrunching up his face. “Who--” he looked up at Steve again. “Hey, wasn’t she--”

Steve suddenly looked deflated and he stared at nothing, the red fury draining from his face. “The woman I knew before I went into the ice. Yes.”

“Oh…” Tony stared at the name and image, all joviality gone from his stance. He sat up, picking up the magazine. “I’m sorry, Steve. Really. I admit that planting porn in your room is something I’d do, but…not this, I swear I didn’t do this.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped. He blinked his eyes once and then straightened again. “I believe you, Tony,” he said, his voice quivering a little. He cleared his throat, and the quiver was gone. “It was wrong of me to jump to conclusions like that. I’m sorry.”

“Naw it wasn’t,” Tony said, “Like I said, I’m the most likely person in the house to have done it.” He opened the magazine. “Now, I’ve never seen something like this before—and I have quite the hefty sampling—and I’m a genius, so I should be able to figure out where it came from.” He spent a few minutes looking through it. Steve looked pointedly in a different direction while he did so. Tony’s eyes went wide when he found the changed picture, but he didn’t speak.

“Huh,” Tony said finally. “Well, Steve,” he put down the magazine. “I conclude that what we have here is a misguided gift from a Captain America admirer, with a seriously messed up way of conveying her crazed affections. Saying that she’d—sorry—like to be your, um, Peggy.”

Steve just rubbed his forehead. “I think--” he looked around the room without focusing on anything. “I think I’ll go to my room and—think for a while.” He started towards the door. “And please get rid of—that.”

The Avengers waited in silence for a few minutes. Loki stayed in the room with them. Finally, Natasha spoke up. 

“JARVIS, who put the magazine in Steve’s room?”

“I have no record of that event,” said JARVIS.

Clint looked annoyed. “How can you not have a record of it? Don’t you have a security camera in there?”

“I have no record,” JARVIS repeated.

“So somebody’s infiltrating the tower,” Tony said, holding the magazine up to the light. “Poor Steve.”

“Isn’t he over-reacting a bit?” Clint asked.

Natasha shrugged, and Tony shook his head. “I didn’t want to say with him in the room, but there’s a photo-shopped picture of a porn star in here, using her face. What are they trying to do, humiliate him to death? Divide and conquer? There’s no motive. What the hell would our mysterious gift-bearer be trying to accomplish here?”

“Tony, you know none of us did this,” said Natasha.

“Sure I know it. I’m wondering who the hell would.”

“Couldn’t it be what you just said—a misguided admirer?” Clint asked.

“I only said that to pacify Steve,” said Tony with a wince. “A secret admirer who infiltrates the tower, uses a lot of money and risks copyright lawsuits to copy a _Newsweek_ magazine, slaps a few porn photos in the first few pages and leaves the rest of it untouched, including a few expertly photo-shopped, manages to put a picture of Peggy faintly under the address box, and despite all that effort doesn’t leave Steve a way to contact her should he be interested?”

“…A very sophisticated admirer without a real desire for a serious relationship?” Clint ventured, and then sighed.

“It’s full of holes.” Tony tossed the magazine onto the table. “There’s something wrong here. We’ll have to ask the others if they saw anything. Thor’s out with Jane, isn’t he? When’s he get back?”

“Late this afternoon, I think,” said Natasha. “About five.”

“Okay. Don’t tell Steve that I haven’t destroyed this yet.” Tony took the magazine with him as he left the room.

Loki sat down on one of the couches as they filed out, and smiled.

ɤ

When Thor and Jane returned several hours later, Tony waved them into a quiet conference room with a long table and gas fireplace and explained the situation. Loki kept his gaze fixed on Thor to gage his reaction. Jane Foster caught on first.

“Oh—oh, that is _disgusting_ ,” she said in horror. “Poor, poor Steve!”

“I know,” said Tony, looking miserable. “Everyone’s been walking on eggshells all afternoon. Haven’t seen him since he showed me the magazine.”

Thor wrinkled his nose in revulsion, but said nothing, running his fingers along the slick wooden surface of the table. 

“I’m gonna go see if I can find him,” Jane said, hurrying from the room.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea--” Tony started.

“Jane is excellent at comforting,” said Thor. “And she usually does so without letting the person know that she is comforting them at all. Let her go, it will do no harm.”

“Sure,” Tony didn’t have much fight in him tonight. “What do you think, big guy?”

Thor fingered the magazine but didn’t open it, looking thoughtful. “Do what Steve asked you. Get rid of it.”

“Why?”

“Whatever reason this mysterious someone had to give Steve the magazine, they either wanted only his reaction, or they wanted us to have this magazine on the premises.”

“Are you suggesting it’s a bomb or something?” Tony raised an eyebrow. Thor shrugged.

“Whatever it is, they want us to have it. So I suggest destroying it immediately.”

“What if it can help track down whoever did it?”

“If they are not done bothering us, they will try again.” 

“I guess you have a point,” Tony looked hesitant, but he snapped his fingers. In response, a fire flared up in the fireplace. He picked up the magazine and tossed it in. Loki’s eyes went wide as a burning sensation ripped through his fingers. He staggered backwards, pressing his hands to his face in an effort to cool them. He winced as painful tingling shot through his body. Then the spell dissipated and the magazine’s words and pictures shifted back to normal. But it was aflame and no one would know the difference.

Loki stared at Thor in shock. Usually the destruction of magicked objects did not hurt him…if it did now, it must be because of his weakened state. Thor knew of his weakened state (how could he not be weak?),  and he suspected a magical intruder—why else would he suggest the destruction of a harmless magazine? Tony was right; it wasn’t like it could go off like a bomb.

Thor had hurt him. On _purpose_.

Loki’s face contorted. He had his answer.

And it was no.

Loki was no longer angry. He was furious. Another lie crumbled into ashes. Loki lurched out into the hallway, quivering. He had to do something. He had nowhere to go. What would he do, anyway, if he did go?

So he would stay. He would _fight_. He would rain destruction on these pathetic Avengers.

Only he couldn’t. Loki was unable to deceive himself. He was too weak now. His magic remained strong, but his body not strong enough to cast much of it. But he wouldn’t lie down without a fight of some sort. Without making them as miserable as possible.

Loki went to the kitchens. 

He didn’t think about it, but that’s where he found himself. Perhaps because the Avengers spent a lot of time there—for communal meals in the evening, and sporadic snacks throughout the day. Tony Stark had his own bar in the basement for his sporadic snacks—if various drinks could be counted as a snack.

In any case, he found himself in a room full of breakables. Loki went straight to a cabinet and opened it. Almost methodically he pulled out a huge glass platter and studied the intricacies of the vines, wine glasses, and stars etched into its surface, before it was sailing through the air like a Frisbee and shattering against the opposite wall into a thousand raindrop-like particles that tinkled and spread across the floor and tabletop in a lazy ripple.

A window above the large sink let in large rectangles of sunlight. Loki took out a stack of bowls and hurled them, one right after another, at the thick glass. For a time, the window-glass won and the bowls landed in pieces in the sink and on the counter. Eventually though, the glass began to crack, and finally shattered as a bowl tore through it like paper and fell out of sight. 

After that he stopped being methodical, instead pulling out the breakables while sitting on the marble countertops; throwing them at the ground and walls, with pieces of glass and porcelain flying through the air at each area of contact. One thing sent a three-inch long missile that stabbed into Loki’s palm. He pulled it back out, ignoring the spurt of blood, and tossed it onto the floor. The high-quality things were supposed to be accident-resistant, but Loki was a god and these were not accidents. He threw a fine wooden mug so hard that it dented the cabinet door it crashed into and broke in half itself.

As Loki began to pull out a stack of saucers, he heard voices in the hallway and stopped.

“Yeah, I cook a little. I can’t live off of pop-tarts like Darcy can, and we can’t afford to eat at diners all day every day, and Erik always burns stuff when he tries to make something. I don’t cook much, but I make a pretty mean hamburger casserole.”

Jane Foster. Loki leaned against the counters as the voices got closer and they stepped into the dine-in half of the kitchen. They froze. Steve’s mouth dropped open.

“Was there an earthquake we didn’t feel?” Jane managed.

Loki put his finger against a cabinet door and swung it open. Their gazes snapped to it.

“Um,” said Jane.

Loki gently closed it. He crossed silently to a cabinet on the opposite wall and swung it open.

“Steve? What’s your opinion on poltergeist activity?” 

Inside this new cabinet was a long line of wine glasses. Loki shoved his arm in and, with one swift motion, upset all of the glasses. They crashed against each other and the wood of the cabinet, many falling out and shattering on the counter and floor. Steve put out his arm and shoved Jane behind him, drawing his body up in readiness.

Loki crossed into the dine-in half of the kitchen, going right past Steve and Jane, and over to a shelf that held stacks of clean plates. He put his hand on the top one, and then threw it. Steve held his arm in front of his face. The plate hit it, spun off in a wild direction, then clattered to the floor and broke into two pieces.

“Jane, go get the others,” Steve ordered.

“But--”

“Go!”

She obeyed, and Steve backed to the doorway, but didn’t leave. “Hello?” he called out. “I know you can hear me. Look, I don’t know what you want, but I’m willing to listen.”

Ha. Loki threw another plate. Steve ducked it. 

“Tell us what it is you want. You can throw things, so you can write too, yes? Stop attacking or we’ll be forced to defend ourselves.”

Yes, he knew. Loki gave a tight smile.

ɤ

Thor hurried along the hallway to the kitchen, grabbing Mjolnir and Steve’s shield. He had been in the training room, and he liked to train like he would in a real fight, so he wore his warrior’s garb. He heard Steve talking, along with shattering sounds.

He got to the kitchen and gaped at the mess, as the other Avengers crowded through behind him.

“Whatever it is, it’s not talking,” Steve informed them. Blood seeped out of a small cut on his face. Thor handed him the shield. 

“So are we being haunted?” Tony said, in his flippantly casual tone of voice that could mean either he was jesting or that he was serious.       

The next moment a plate lifted itself off of the rack and shot towards him. Thor held out his hammer in front of the plate’s path and it shattered against it.

“Look,” Clint picked up one of the pieces and held it to the light. “There’s blood on here. Is anybody hurt?”

“No,” the Avengers chorused.

“I am, but I’m not bleeding that much,” said Steve.

“So it is a physical being,” Thor concluded. “Only invisible.” He straightened and bellowed out in an authoritative voice. “I am Thor of Asgard! Midgard and Stark Tower are under my protection! To attack them is to attack Asgard. Show yourself now, and we may negotiate.”

Nothing happened. Perhaps it was thinking. 

Jane appeared in the doorway, behind the wall of Avengers, with detecting equipment and a pad of paper. One of the cabinet doors swung open and then shut. 

“Maybe it isn’t physical,” Bruce said. “Thor, do ghosts exist?”

“Not ‘ghosts’ the way you define them,” said Thor. “It could be a spiritual being. Or merely an invisible one who wishes us to think it is a ghost.”

Natasha whirled, cutting her knife through the air. 

“Tasha?” Clint questioned, an arrow instantly on his bow.

“It touched me,” she said, and they all saw the smear of red across her front.

Tony laughed. “It’s a horny ghost--Ngah!” he jumped backwards and crashed into Bruce. Blood was smeared across his cheek. Tony scrubbed at it with his palm.

“Do you mind?” Bruce gave him an impatient shove.

Several chairs upset themselves, all in a row. The next moment, more dishes crashed out of the cabinets and shattered. Jane, behind him, gasped. 

“Thor…your cape.”

Thor grasped some of the fabric and brought it in front of him. His stomach dropped at the sight of the shimmering, emerald green.

“Loki,” he whispered.

He looked back up in time to see his brother appear several feet in front of them, next to the table. Tony let out a little scream.

“It is a ghost!”

“Thor?” Steve queried.

Thor just stared for several seconds, at a loss for words. The apparition’s hair was matted and tangled, the clothing torn and hanging off of a dangerously thin body frame, old blood smeared and crusted across the mouth. New blood dripped from a torn palm, sliding over the skin and dripping on the floor, now that Loki stood still. But not Loki. Thor took a deep breath and gathered himself.

“Why to do you appear in the shape of my brother?” he demanded. The apparition blinked and did not reply. 

“So that’s not Loki?” Tony managed.

“Of course it’s not Loki,” Natasha snapped.

“Answer me!” Thor raised his voice. “Shift into a shape where you can reply!”

The apparition’s eyes narrowed, the shadows in the hollows of the pale cheeks seeming to darken. The eyes flashed with an angry fire, and the apparition held up its bleeding hand, palm outwards, where Thor got a good look at the dipping gash, and brought one finger down.

Heat spread over Thor’s right leg.

“Thor!” Clint said, his voice sharp. Thor looked down, and saw fire creeping up his trouser leg. The next instant it was gone, leaving his skin tingly, and the clothes with no sense of harm. Thor looked back up, confused.

_“Tell me, Thor, as a child, when I caused the fire to leap at you and it caught on your clothing, did I tell you the reason for that?”_

No. Coincidence. Thor swallowed, his throat dry. Jane squirmed through the wall of Avengers and touched the back of his hand with her fingertips.

“Don’t try that again!” Clint was saying, angrily. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but it needs to stop!”

The apparition, as if taking notice, turned his head in Clint’s direction, but his eyes instead focused on Natasha. He turned his palm downwards and stretched out his arm towards her. Natasha flinched, and the next moment the apparition’s other hand flew up and a knifeblade appeared between his fingers, about a centimeter away from his forehead. It took Thor a moment to realize she had thrown it. The apparition opened his fingers and let the dagger clatter to the ground. Then Thor stopped breathing and the Avengers stared.

Natasha got out another knife and, though keeping her eyes fixed on the apparition, asked, “What?”

“Tasha…your hair,” Clint said.

“What?”

“Your hair,” Clint repeated, stupidly.

“You’re a blonde!” Tony blurted. Starting at the roots and spreading outwards, Natasha’s hair turned to a perfect golden yellow. The curls thickened, then straightened, then turned black.

“Whatever you’re doing, stop it!” Clint hollered.

“It’s me,” Thor whispered. “It means for me to see this.”

“Thor,” Jane said, “Don’t let it get to you. Whatever it’s doing to your head, don’t let it in.”

The apparition cut his hand through the air, sending blood droplets spraying to the side, and Natasha’s hair returned to normal. It turned to look at Thor.

“Thor,” Jane repeated. Thor straightened again, refusing to give into this. It meant to distress him, to copy Loki’s actions. It knew of the childhood incident that had sent the castle in an uproar, and the incident that had made Sif break a couple of Loki’s ribs—

A tingling sensation washed over his hand. Thor held it up and everything froze. Emblazoned on the back of his hand, ugly, red, and glaring, was a thick, hawk-shaped scar.

Thor cried out. “Loki!”

“Thor, that’s not Loki!” Jane protested, but Thor ignored her. He pushed Steve out of his way and, afraid he would vanish, put out one hand and touched Loki’s cheek. Loki stiffened visibly, eyes still glaring and venomous.

The next instant Thor wrapped both of his arms around him and held him, gently for fear he would snap in two, but firmly. He wasn’t going to let him go.

“Loki, Brother,” he said, his voice breaking and eyes brimming. “Loki, I thought you were dead. We all thought you were dead. Heimdall saw—Brother, I thought you were dead.”  

“Wait…are you telling me that is Loki?” Tony said. “In the name of all things sacred, somebody make up their mind! Is it Loki or isn’t it, and is he alive or dead? For crying out loud!”

Loki remained stiff in his arms, and Thor could practically feel him glaring daggers at Tony.

“Tony, shut up,” said Steve, and Thor felt an immense wave of gratitude towards him. At last he let Loki slide from his arms, but he kept both of his hands on his shoulders, staring into his brother’s face.

“What are you doing here? Where have you been?” he asked, and then felt stupid as Loki’s face contorted in rage and tried to squirm out from under Thor’s hands. But Thor did not let go. Of course, Loki couldn’t speak. He looked helplessly as Loki’s jaw went from side to side, as someone might do after being punched.

Loki put his fingers against his lips. Thor shook his head.

“I can’t do that, Loki,” he said. “You must eat. But we cannot feed you here. Will you allow me to take you back to Asgard?”

In response, Loki jerked back, hard. He tore out of Thor’s grip. Thor started forward, but Loki held up his hands in warning, green magic dancing on his fingertips. Thor stopped.

“Is that why you are here, Brother?”

Loki shook his head, hard, and put his fingers to his lips again. Thor felt an extreme, hopeless desire to free his brother from his trappings. He could not imagine the agony of being unable to speak.

“Will you write down your reason then?”

Loki’s expression went hard and he shook his head again.

“Can you feed yourself with magic?”

Head shake.

Of course not. Loki looked absolutely starved. Dread washed over Thor. From the look in Loki’s eyes, Thor guessed that he would much rather starve to death than return to his prison in Asgard. He would do it, too.

“I can negotiate with Asgard--”

Head shake. Hard head shake. His form began to mix with green mist.

“Do not go!” Thor said, desperate. Loki’s form solidified again. Thor made up his mind. “I have to let him go,” he said to the others behind him, though he kept looking at Loki to make sure he wouldn’t disappear.

“Thor!” Jane protested.

“Bad idea!” Tony said.

“If I do not, he will starve!” Thor said, twisting Mjolnir’s handle in his hand. “He has come here for my help, and I believe he has something urgent he must tell me.” 

Loki’s eyes grew wide. Head nod.

“He’s manipulating you, Thor,” said Steve.

“He is telling the truth,” said Thor firmly. He remembered, on that first day, when Loki had tried to get him to remove the muzzle. His brother was tormented, he could see that. He had something he had to say—something he was hiding. And nobody would listen to him. “Loki, will you promise to not run away if I remove your bindings?”

Nod. Vigorous nod. Loki’s forehead creased and he looked desperate.

“There,” said Thor. Nobody looked convinced, but nobody tried to persuade him otherwise.

“Okay!” Tony said, clapping his hands together, once. “We’re going to trust the God of Lies’ word!” Loki shot him a glare. Tony ignored him. “What do you need, Thor? Eye of newt? Toe of frog?”

“Nay, Tony,” said Thor. “Some scissors.”

“ _Scissors_?” Natasha said in disbelief. “No offense, but if you only need scissors, wouldn’t Loki have cut it already?”

“The threads can only be undone by someone who has the authority to do so,” said Thor.

“You, in other words,” said Jane.

“Me,” said Thor, and then he winced and felt uncomfortable. “Or my father.”

Jane came up beside him again and touched his hand. Loki glanced at her with hatred burning in his eyes, then looked away. “And you’re disobeying him by doing this?”

Thor looked down. “Yes.”

“Are you sure you should?”

 “Yes.”

Steve crossed the room and opened a drawer, taking out a pair of scissors. He came back and handed them to Thor.

“Thank you.” Thor gently pushed Jane back. “Come here, Brother.” Loki obeyed. Thor put the fingers of his free hand to Loki’s cheek as he brought the scissors up. “I will try to be gentle. This may take a while.” He closed the blades over one of the threads, pushed, and it snapped.

Loki’s eyes went wide and he jerked back, both hands going to his mouth. 

“Hey…” Tony said warningly. Thor just stared in surprise, still holding the scissors in midair.

Loki tore at the bindings at his mouth, breathing hard, yanking the threads so that his skin tore and began to bleed. His fingers worked quickly, frantically, with no rhyme or reason besides grabbing random strands and ripping them from his lips.

“Woah, man, take it easy!” Tony sounded a little sick.

Loki stared at the ceiling while he worked, his entire body trembling. At last he got the last thread free. He convulsed as if struck by an invisible blow and stumbled backwards. He crashed into the shelf, knocking it over and the plates slid out across the room in a deafening, shattering wave. Loki went limp against the wall, eyes closed, breathing hard, with his fist clenched around the magic thread. Blood dribbled down his chin from the holes in his lips and the corners of his mouth.

Thor’s heart pounded in his throat. “Brother?”

Loki took a deep breath through his nose and opened his eyes. He looked around as if in a daze and unable to remember where he was. His gaze lighted on the Avengers.

Behind him, Thor heard Tony muttering, “Bad idea, bad idea…”

Loki’s expression cleared, and a long, slow, wicked smile spread across his face. Thor’s stomach dropped. Loki’s lips parted, and he let out a cracked, relieved, one-syllable laugh.

“Heh.”

And then he vanished.

ɤ

Loki didn’t teleport. He didn’t think he’d have the strength. He merely turned invisible, and ducked under Bruce’s lunge. He looked for a moment at Thor’s despairing face, before turning and running from the room. Rushing buoyancy surged through him. Magic sparked and a flame danced in his eyes. He felt whole. His soul flooded back, and he had power at his fingertips again.

A minute later he stood in front of the Stark tower. He wanted to laugh, but he didn’t. Already a plan formed in his mind, and he knew what he wanted his first words to be. He set off down the street, fast, until he came to a darkened shop. He touched the lock and it broke, and he slipped through the doorway. He went behind the counter and knelt down on the ground, opening his fist. The threads still hissed in his bloody palm, the magic struggling to repair itself. 

Loki brought up his other hand and summoned green fire. It danced in his palm. And—strangely—the extraction hurt.  Loki ignored the odd pain and extended a finger towards the threads. The flame crackled, shooting out and engulfing the threads. 

The blood coating them burned first, turning black and then dry, cracking, and falling off in fragile sheets that crumbled. Loki made the flame hotter, wincing a bit, but it still didn’t affect the string. He continued to turn it up, grimacing as it began to hurt his wounded hand. He put a shield around his hand to protect it while the flame became brighter. The deeper pain from the hand casting the spell sent a slight burning sensation up his arm to his chest. The heat began to sting his face before the thread finally started to crackle. Loki kept it at that heat, burning the threads slowly. The ends waved back and forth, magic sparking out of them. The metallic substance in them melted slowly, sticking the long thread to itself while it growled and shook.

Loki’s legs went numb and his muscles went stiff as he knelt unmoving, almost unblinking, as he watched the thread succumb to a molten pool in the middle of his hand, before sending up smoke and burning into coals, and then the coals to ash, and the ash to dust, and its magic finally dying with a sputter.

Loki released the flame, and, keeping the shield around his hand, closed his fingers over the ash into a fist. He slowly stood, only then realizing that the light outside had changed from sun, to unnatural, man-made harshness. It was night in the city that never slept.

Loki left the building and stepped into the bright, mingling street, setting off at a brisk walk to the filthy—what was it called?—“Hudson” River. He reached it a while later and crossed one of the bridges halfway, standing at its edge and ignoring the passer-bys. He held out his clenched hand, feeling the breeze tug at his hair and draw it out over the water. 

“This is for you, Allfather.”

The words hurt. He slowly opened his fingers and let the breeze pick at the dust and carry it over the river, drowning it in the bilge, little by little.

“Let this be a message to you,” Loki said, watching the little pile of ash being slowly demolished. “No matter how hard you try, not matter what injustices and injury you foist upon me, _I shall remain free._ ” He held up his hand, letting the remainder of the ash plummet downwards. “I have defeated you, Allfather!” he cried, looking to the sky, making the people around him deaf to his words. “I have defeated you! And I shall never give into your lies. Never again! You will pay for what you have done and have tried to do to me!”

Loki took a deep breath, as sudden, intense dizziness washed over him. Exhilarated all the same, he began to laugh. Talking hurt, but laughing was excruciating _._ He laughed anyway, and then stopped as the ground seemed to disappear beneath his feet. He gasped and grasped one of the bridge’s supports, finding himself doubled over and staring at the waves below him. He blinked, and his vision going fuzzy around the edges while his voice throbbed. Inside, magic panicked and raced, whipping through him with no rhythm. His heart rate quickened for a reason unknown to him.

Power hummed and vibrated beneath his skin, magic begging for a release, pleading to be used. Loki straightened, and his eyes rolled back in his head. He coughed and focused them again. Magic wisped about his fingers.

_All right, all right._

Loki struggled to not panic, as he grasped at the loose ends of his magic, rapidly losing control. He brought his hands in front of him, pressed his palms together, and then slowly drew them apart. A black void grew between them, and the drain on him was so great that his knees started to buckle. Loki managed to step forward.

The bridge and babble of voices vanished as he stumbled into a darkened room. Soft light shone from a lamp. His feet sank into carpet.

A dark shape leaped up. “Loki?”

Loki swayed, and his vision left him. He managed to force his numb tongue to form a sound.

“Thor.”

He fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to say a quick thank-you to everyone who has left a comment! Even the shortest really and truly make my day. 
> 
> Also, no offense towards Bronies intended. Rock on. ;)
> 
> ~caramell


	4. Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going out of town this week, so here's this chapter a little early!

Bruce worked with Jane and Tony to try and figure out how to track a renegade trickster. Tony kept muttering, “Asgard’s gonna kill us…Asgard’s gonna freaking kill us…” which was “freaking” annoying, but at least it kept Tony on task. Jane had recorded some energy readings around Loki while he stood in the kitchen, and they struggled to string together everything they knew about the Tesseract and Loki’s spear and…well, everything about everything that had to do with Loki, Asgard, and magic.

“Dr. Banner,” JARVIS politely interrupted (only JARVIS could manage to politely interrupt somebody. Maybe it was that perfect, humble tone of voice he always used). “Mr. Odinson requests your immediate presence in his room.”

“How come?” Bruce spoke around the pencil he held in his mouth while trying to work out a calculation. “Tell him to come down here if he wants something. I’m busy.” Bruce was not in the mood to cater to a lazy god—no matter how depressed the said god was feeling. Thor’s attempts to help only got in the way; his knowledge of magic was limited (he really only knew about the results; not the source), and his ways of describing it were so out-of-whack with Earth vocabulary that they’d given it up. 

“I…don’t think that would be wise, sir, besides difficult.” 

Jane set down her calculator, looking a little worried. She brushed hair out of her eyes. “What’s wrong? He’s not hurt, is he?”

“No, Miss Foster,” said JARVIS. “He instructed me to inform you, Dr. Banner, that his brother requires immediate medical attention.”

Tony let forth a spew of scotch that sprinkled more than one computer monitor and Jane’s face.

“Ew! Tony!” she threw a wad of paper at him while wiping her face with her sleeve.

“Loki’s _here_ , Jarvis?” Tony demanded. 

“Yes, sir. In Mr. Odinson’s room.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Dr. Banner asked, putting down his equipment. He wasn’t in the mood to cater to an Earth-destructive, insane, lying god either.

“We gotta help! Jarvis, get my suit! We need to get the others, grab weapons, contain—” 

“He appears to be unconscious, sir.” Tony’s frantic battle planning ceased. After a pause, JARVIS added, “Mr. Odinson is requesting that you hurry.”

“Okay,” Bruce sighed. 

“I’ll suit up and follow,” said Tony. “And if you have to Hulk out, could you please try to not cause any permanent structural damage? I expect you to replace all those plates you broke that Loki didn’t.”

“I’ll do my best,” said Bruce, dryly, and without much sympathy. “Perhaps you would like to explain that to the Other Guy?”

“No thanks.” Tony walked off, calling out instructions to JARVIS.

“I’m coming with you.” Jane scooped equipment into her arms. “Maybe I can record some more readings.” Bruce nodded and they both went upstairs, stopping by Bruce’s room to grab some basic medical equipment.

Thor practically pounced on Bruce the instant he opened the door. 

“Dr. Banner! Thank the heavens! He arrived only a few minutes ago, only to collapse! I only just managed to catch him, and now I cannot wake him and—”

“Calm down, Thor,” Bruce said, pushing him out of the way. Thor had laid Loki down on his bed, where the mischievous Asgardian lay unmoving.

“Can you wake him? I am frightened for his life! I fear he may be injured, on the brink of death—” 

“I said to calm down, Thor.” Bruce set down his things and rolled up his sleeves. He leaned over Loki. “He’s come a long way in rough shape. I don’t think he’d keel over and die now, especially since he’s got his freedom.”

“That is what worries me!” Thor protested, leaning over Loki with him. Bruce pushed him back. “Why would he collapse now, unless he was extremely ill?”

“Be quiet and let me find out,” Bruce said calmly. He pressed his thumb against one of Loki’s eyes and lifted the eyelid, then pushed it back into place, noticing with irritation that Thor was literally breathing down his neck.

“Thor,” Jane said, and pulled him back a few steps. Bruce would have to thank her later.

“Thor,” Bruce touched on the secretive subject, “Loki is in Aesir form now, correct?”

“Aye.”

“Does he keep himself changed?”

“Loki changed when Father first found him in Jotunheim,” Thor explained, clasping his hands in front of him and nervously twiddling his thumbs. “We do not know why. Father informed me that he would shift back and forth when he was an infant, but eventually kept to Aesir form. It is what his body naturally refers to now.”

“Is it only his appearance that changes, or does the rest of him change as well—such as his internal organs?”

“All of him changes,” Thor said, sounding a little confused. “If he shifts into another shape, such as a bird, then his organs have to change. Why?”

Bruce turned around and put his fingers against Thor’s neck. Thor looked bewildered and a little uncomfortable, but he didn’t protest. Then Bruce turned around and put his fingers on Loki’s neck.

“Assuming your pulses would be roughly the same, his heart is racing, though it isn’t too bad. How long ago did he escape from Asgard?”

“Three months.”

“How long since his mouth was sewn shut?”

Thor’s wince was almost audible. “Eight.”

“How has he eaten?”

“No,” said Thor. “Not exactly. There are ways of giving a body sustenance without eating.”

“Is it as satisfying as physically eating?”

“No, but you will not starve to death while receiving your energy from it.”

Tony burst into the room, clanking in his full suit. “I’m ready! If he tries anything I’ll pounce!”

Bruce ignored him and interrupted Thor’s startled glance and offended comment by asking, “Would Loki have been able to continue this—feeding on his own?”

Thor shook his head. “We think he took some of the—well, it is in the appearance of stones, that give sustenance when pressed against skin. We think he took a few of the stones, but they would have only lasted a few weeks, used sparingly. My brother never eats much.”

“And he said he couldn’t use his magic to feed himself.”

Thor shrugged.

“How long can Aesir go without eating or drinking?”

“Drinking—a week, perhaps two. Eating, it depends. A few months at the most.”

“Well,” Bruce checked Loki’s breathing and other vital signs. “I’m not an expert in Aesir—for obvious reasons—but I don’t think he’s in immediate danger of dying.”

Thor let out a relieved sigh. “Can you wake him?”

“I don’t think so,” said Bruce. “He seems to be in some sort of self-induced somewhat comatose state. The body—the human body, anyway—can repair itself while in a coma. Loki is clearly exhausted and literally starving. When he wakes up, we’ll give him some light food. If he doesn’t wake up within a week, we’ll have to force-feed him.”

“…oh.” Thor looked a little sick. Jane took his hand and patted it.

“Like Bruce said,” she said cheerfully. “Loki’s come too far to give up so easily now. Besides, he might be putting us on.”

Thor frowned. “In what way?”

“Well, he is the god of mischief,” said Jane. “And I think he would want some sort of assurance that you care about him and will help him. Or perhaps just gain your sympathy.”

“I don’t think he could consciously do that,” said Bruce. “But he could have given in to unconsciousness, for one of those reasons.”

“Hold on, hold on,” Tony interrupted. “Are we seriously _catering_ to the god of chaos now? You know, the crazed guy who tried to take over our world?”

“Preventing him from dying is hardly catering, Tony,” Thor said, sounding offended.

“I don’t like it. What are those lines?” Tony could switch topics so fast that it made Bruce’s head spin. 

Bruce went back to Loki and picked up his right hand, covered in the deep scars. “Can one of you turn down the lights?”

Jane went and flipped the light switch.

“Now that’s just freaky,” Tony said, and Bruce had to agree. The scars shone a light blue, casting enough light to make Thor—the closest to the bed—faintly visible. 

“Are these his outlaw markings?” Bruce asked. Thor’s silhouette nodded. Jane turned the light back on. “I wonder if they have anything to do with his condition?” Bruce said, mostly to himself.

“I don’t really care if they have to do with his condition,” said Tony, “But I do care what they have to do with his being an outlaw—he’s a runaway criminal, which is bad enough, but he’s _Asgard’s_ runaway criminal, along with Earth’s and Jotunheim’s, and we’re harboring him!”

“I will take full responsibility should any disputes arise,” said Thor. Tony made a face.

“That’s all noble of you and everything, Thor, but it doesn’t work like that. We’re helping you harbor a fugitive from the law.”

“Well, technically, Loki is to stay under Asgard’s supervision. I am of Asgard, and he is under my supervision. Therefore, he is not exactly away from the law.”

Tony stared, and then rolled his eyes. “Yeah, great attempt at talking your way out of a situation, but it still doesn’t work. You cut the threads, and he isn’t _in Asgard_ , which you told us was part of the agreement. And he can just run away any time he chooses.”

Bruce had to differ on that. “Look at him, Tony. Does he look like he can run anywhere soon?”

Tony shrugged. “Not now, obviously. But there’s nothing to prevent him from running after he wakes up and has a bite to eat.”

“Then what do you propose, Tony?” Thor asked coldly. When it came to choosing between the Avengers and his brother, Bruce could see which road he would take. “Loki has to speak with me about something, and I will not return with him to Asgard until we have that chance.”

“Fine.” Tony held up his hands in surrender. “But let me put him in a reinforced room.”

“You have those?” Jane questioned.

“Never know when they’ll come in handy,” said Tony, and then at the look on Thor’s face, added, “It’ll be comfortable, like a normal room. Just reinforced against escape. And magic.”

“I suppose that would be permit-able, for now,” Thor relented.

“Good,” Tony spun around. “I’ll go work on it right now. Jane, Banner, with me. Jarvis, you let me know the instant that god shows signs of stirring.”

ɤ

_“Mother! Mother! Come find me, Mother!”_

_Frigga smiled as she turned into the room. “Mother is a bit tired, dear.”_

_“Find me, Mother! Find me!”_

_Frigga glanced around at the furniture. “All right,” she turned in a circle. “Give me some hints, though, or it will take me ages.”_

_Giggle. Frigga slowly opened the wardrobe. She slowly got down on her hands and knees and looked under the bed. “Loookiiii…”_

_Another giggle. Frigga got up and slowly walked over to the chair that sat in a corner, and then swiftly looked behind it. Nothing. Frigga, a little surprised, turned back around. “Loki?” she moved away, and heard the giggle again. She looked behind the wardrobe, which sat next to the chair. Nothing. She must be more tired than she thought.  “All right, I give up, where are you?”_

_Loki didn’t answer. Frigga looked under the bed again and glanced into the water room. “Loki?” She circled the room once more. “Are you still in here?”_

_Giggle. Amma entered the room with clothes in her arms. “Have you lost something, my lady?”_

_“Only Loki.” Frigga checked the bookshelf, but there wasn’t enough space for a cricket between the wood and the wall, much less Loki._

_“Here I am!” Loki cheered, triumphant. Frigga turned around and saw him standing in front of the chair, a wide grin on his face._

_Frigga smiled. “Clever boy, where were you?”_

_Loki laughed and ran into her open arms. “Behind the chair.”_

_“No, you were not. I looked there,” Frigga rumpled his hair. Behind them, Amma chuckled._

_“Yes I was!” Loki started laughing again, his bright green eyes shining. “You looked, but you didn’t see me! You looked right at me and couldn’t see me!”_

_Frigga frowned. “What?”_

_“You couldn’t see me!” Loki pulled away from her and held both of his arms out to the side. “See?”_

_Loki’s body dissolved into nothing. Amma screamed. Frigga gasped. “Loki!”_

_Loki reappeared a moment later, his arms still held out, grinning. “See?”_

_Frigga put a hand over her heart. “How did you do that?”_

_“Like this!” Loki said, and he disappeared again. Amma staggered against the bed, a hand to her forehead._

_“Loki, stop it,” Frigga said. He reappeared again, his smile fading. She knelt down and held out a hand. Loki came to her obediently. “When did you learn to do that?”_

_“Yesterday,” Loki said in a small voice, glancing at Amma sitting on the bed. “I hid from Amma when she came to get Thor and me for our bath.”_

_“You rascal,” Amma breathed._

_“Can you—do anything else?” Frigga asked._

_Loki looked confused. “Lots of things. I play in the courtyard with Thor and the others, I go on walks in the gardens, I write in my book, I—”_

_“I mean, are there other things you can do that Thor can’t?”_

_Loki puffed out his chest. “Lots of things. I can get Amma to give us sweets, I can get good grades with Tutor, I can—”_

_“I think you had better come with me, Loki.” Frigga stood back up and took his hand. She led him out of the room and took him to the lower levels, expecting him to voice a question, but Loki remained silent, his head bowed. She softly opened the door to a conference room, where Odin stood conversing with Asgardian nobles. “Allfather,” Odin looked up. “Loki and I need to discuss something with you, privately.”_

_Odin looked at the nobles and gave a small nod. They split into smaller groups, drawing away. Frigga nodded towards another door and they all went into the small room, shutting the door behind them._

_“Well, Loki, I have not seen much of you today,” Odin said with a smile at his son. Frigga pulled Loki in front of her, draping her arms around his thin shoulders._

_“Odin, Loki needs to show you something.”_

_“Oh?”_

_Loki looked up at her, face worried. He squirmed, and Frigga let him go. He stood in front of them both, and did nothing._

_“Go on, Loki. Show your father what you showed me,” Frigga encouraged._

_Loki hunched his shoulders. “I—I don’t want to, I don’t like to do it anyway—it’s not that fun, it’s—”_

_“Loki,” Frigga knelt down again and took his hand. “You are not in trouble. Please, show your father.”_

_“Go on, Loki,” Odin prompted._

_Loki hesitated, fear and worry playing over his face. “I can’t.”_

_“Loki,” Frigga began. Loki pulled his hand away._

_“I can’t when people are touching me. It’s harder.” Loki stepped back, looked at them both, and took a deep breath. Then he vanished._

_Frigga felt Odin stiffen beside her, but he didn’t show any obvious surprise in his face. “Hm,” he said._

_“That’s enough, dear,” Frigga said, and Loki reappeared._

_“Where did you learn that? Who taught you?” Odin inquired._

_“I figured out how to do it yesterday,” Loki said in a small voice._

_“Who taught you?” Odin repeated._

_Loki’s forehead wrinkled. “Nobody.”_

_“You are not in trouble,” Odin said, firmly. Loki looked scared. “Who taught you?”_

_“Nobody!” Loki repeated, his eyes filling with tears._

_“All right, Loki, that’s fine,” Frigga held out her arms and he came to her._

_“I am sorry, I have just never seen someone turn himself invisible so young,” Odin explained, kneeling down to Loki’s level. “Can you do anything else?”_

_Loki glanced at Frigga._

_“I don’t think he understands what that means,” Frigga said. “He doesn’t know the difference between magic and the everyday. It is the same to him.”_

_“Naturally gifted,” Odin murmured. Loki looked up at Frigga, looking more hopeful, but confused._

_“Thank you for showing us, Loki,” Frigga said, patting his shoulders. “It’s time for you to go to bed now. It is a very nice trick, but do not use it to hide from Amma anymore, all right?”_

_“All right,” Loki still looked confused, but no longer scared. Frigga went to the door and called a servant to come take Loki away._

_“Goodnight, Loki,” she called as he waved to her._

_“Goodnight,” Odin echoed, shutting the door again. Frigga put her hand to her forehead._

_“I had no idea,” she murmured. “Did you?”_

_“No,” Odin sat down in one of the chairs next to the cold ashes of the fireplace. Frigga sat down next to him._

_“Does it have anything to do with…?”_

_“I don’t know. They do possess some abilities, especially in illusions, but…teaching himself invisibility, at his age…” Odin shook his head. “I have never heard of such a thing. That is a highly skilled ability. It is unlikely that he does not know how to do a great many other things. It seems we simply have one of the few natural-born sorcerers on our hands.”_

_“Well, it’s a bit of a shock, but…” Frigga took a deep breath and sat up. “It is nothing too un-stabilizing.”_

_“I suppose we should get him someone that will help him develop his skills,” Odin mused._

_“Oh, no,” Frigga protested. “Not yet. Let him be a child for a while longer. We can start him when he and Thor begin training.”_

_“Very well,” Odin stood. “Meanwhile, we need to make sure he does not use magic to get into mischief.”_

_“Stop Loki from getting into mischief?” Frigga echoed. “That will take some doing. You may as well ask him to stop breathing.”_

ɤ

Loki awoke and lay still. The first thing he noticed was the bed. It had lumps, and its hardness reminded him of Thor’s bed in Asgard. Thor always did prefer firmness. For Loki, on the other hand, the softer the better. Thor had complained more than once that Loki’s bed was like a cloud. ‘I feel I am going to fall through!’ he’d declare. To which Loki would reply, with some annoyance, ‘You do not have to sleep here.’ Thor usually did anyway, though. That was back when they were young enough to share beds if they wished.

Still, it had been so long since Loki had been in any kind of true bed (cell cots didn’t count), that he didn’t dwell on the fact that it was not a perfect bed. The fact that it was a true bed meant that he was still on Midgard. Thor had not taken him back to Asgard, and Loki struggled to keep his breathing even and to not sigh in relief. 

He listened, and heard heavy breathing that he recognized as Thor’s. Thor shifted his weight and his chair creaked. Thor sighed. With a flash of panic, Loki suddenly remembered his Heimdall-invisibility spell. He grasped for it, and realized it was still on him. Thank the Norns, his subconscious had held onto it while he slept. Loki basked in his own relief and self-congratulation, but still made no movement. He knew patience, and waited a very long time. 

After several hours, Jane entered and began arguing with Thor about sleeping and rest. He’d been in here for days, she said. It wasn’t like Loki would up and disappear if Thor went to sleep in his own room for a few hours. The others would watch. The room was reinforced (as if that would hold him). Finally, she convinced Thor to get up and leave. 

Silence. Loki cracked open his eyes and looked about the room. It was simply furnished, but so had Thor’s been. For Midgard’s standards, it was probably a fine room. Loki sat up, lightheaded. He’d been asleep for days, Jane Foster had said. Well, he did feel refreshed, though very scrubbed-out and empty inside. He would have to eat something soon.

He slipped out of bed and examined the room. The bed was large, though rectangular instead of round, in Midgardian fashion. A dresser stood on one end of the room, with a pitcher and bowl and towel sitting on the top, and a large desk stood on one side of the bed. On the other, this side, was a small table with a lamp. The carpet was thick, as it had been in Thor’s room, and a single window, covered with a thick shade, was a yard or so from the foot of his bed. Loki crossed the room and pushed the shade aside, looking outside with his hands behind his back. The view was magnificent, and very high up. Loki could see out over the tops of New York City buildings, many which were in the process of being rebuilt. Rubble and refuse sat piled high in many of the streets.

 Loki always enjoyed being up high.

He turned again and looked in a mirror hanging from the wall above the simple dresser. 

_I really do look dreadful._

It had been ages since Loki had seen his own face. It was much thinner, and had somehow managed to become paler. Or perhaps it wasn’t, and only looked so, as the dark shadows in the hollows in his cheeks and under his eyes provided harsh contrast. His eyes almost disturbed him. Dark shadows circled them entirely, and he saw them bright with cunning and hatred, glassy with pain, and a very starved look that had nothing to do with the lack of food. Loki looked down and tapped the pitcher with his finger. It held water, and he poured some out into the bowl. He sipped some of it first, enjoying a true liquid sliding across his tongue, and then dipped his hands in and splashed his face. Somebody had washed him—he could tell because of the absence of blood—but his lips still bled a little, and somebody giving you a sponge bath wasn’t quite the same as washing yourself.

The door opened, and Loki turned to see a very surprised Steve Rogers.

“You’re awake!” he said, fumbling with the book he held in one hand as he shoved the door shut with one foot. He held his shield in his other hand, though he didn’t wear his uniform.

“Yes, it appears I am,” said Loki, patting his face with the towel and then drying his hands.

“Well—that’s good.” Steve put the book down, then picked it back up. “Um…are you hungry?”

Loki just looked at him with a blank expression. “What do you think? I have been without true food and drink for over eight months. I am absolutely famished.”

Steve stared. “You’ve been without food for eight _months_?”

Loki looked at him in utter astonishment. Was he forever doomed to reside with idiots? “If you will recall,” Loki shifted his weight forward, pronouncing each word with a stinging sharpness. “I had my mouth sewn shut.”

“Well, I know that, wise guy,” Steve snorted. “But there are ways to feed people that don’t have to be through the mouth. At least there are here.” That was definite condensation, “Don’t they have something like that in Asgard?”

“Yes,” said Loki. “But it does not satisfy. It merely keeps your body going and relatively healthy.”

“Isn’t that what food does anyway?”

Loki glared at him, and copied Steve’s condescending tone of voice. “On Midgard, perhaps,” he said. “In any case, I have been without any food at all for three months.”

“Sure,” said Steve, then, “JARVIS, could you tell Bruce that Loki’s awake and is asking for food?”

“Of course, Sir,” said JARVIS.

“How kind of you,” said Loki. “Tell me, when do Asgard’s forces show up to give me safe conduct back to prison?”

Steve shook his head. “We’re helping you for Thor’s sake, Loki. Asgard doesn’t know you’re here. Yet. One peep out of you, though, and we’ll go blasting it around the streets. And then—zip, you’re gone.”

Loki crossed to his bed and sat down, keeping his back very straight. “I see. From one prison to another.”

“I’m sure you’ll find us much more amiable,” said Steve. “Especially since we’ll actually feed you.” He paused, and then when the silence became uncomfortable, added, “You have something to speak to Thor about, right?” 

Loki nodded, stiffly.

“Well, that’ll have to wait a while longer. He’s been staying up with you without sleeping for the past few days, and Jane only just now got him to go lay down. We’ll let him sleep a few hours before telling him you’re up.”

“Of course,” Loki agreed. The door opened and Pepper Potts entered with a tray, looking more than a little nervous. Steve took it from her, and then offered it to Loki. Loki smiled in amusement at the go-between. He changed positions on the bed so he sat cross-legged before accepting the tray.

“I’d eat slowly if I were you,” Steve cautioned.

Loki cocked an eyebrow at him. _I know that already, imbecile_. Remembering the strange pain his magic had caused him earlier, he barricaded his face against expression, and then summoned up soft blue lightening on his fingers—which took much longer than it should have—which he put to the tray. It swarmed through. It felt as though someone had reached through the skin of his hand and pulled part of his flesh out of him.

“Hey!” Steve barked. “What are you doing?”

“Checking for poison,” said Loki, matter-of-factly. “Your mortal weapons are useless on me, but it would cause discomfort.”

“We wouldn’t do that,” Pepper protested. He ignored her. “At least…Thor wouldn’t let us,” she amended.

“Thor, if I remember correctly, is sleeping at the moment.” Satisfied that the meal was safe, Loki picked up slices of fruit and began to eat. He kept his back straight and acted as though the other two weren’t in the room; like he used the treat servants back in Asgard when he took meals in his old room. After a minute or so, he glanced up and gave them an indulgent smile, before focusing back on the meal.

Pepper cleared her throat. “So…you like the room okay?”

With his head still bowed, Loki glanced up at her, then to the side, then back to her, until she looked away with her cheeks flushed. He ate little, only so much as his body would allow without rejecting the sustenance, then uncrossed his legs and stood up. Pepper stepped forward and took it from him, and beat a hasty retreat. Loki went and sat cross-legged on the bed again. Steve Rogers crossed the room and sat in the chair underneath the window, opening his book and setting his shield down at his feet. Loki looked over his shoulder to glance at the title. It was written by somebody named C.S. Lewis.

Loki returned his gaze to directly in front of him and closed his eyes, breathing deeply and slowly with his hands resting on his knees. It was the closest to resting he would allow himself with an Avenger other than Thor in the room. He thought out carefully what exactly he would say to him when he awoke. How to explain himself, and the danger. And then, if Thor should betray him, the best method of escape. He thought out the different circumstances; Thor might alert Asgard only after thinking it over, giving Loki some more time to recover, or he might do it instantly. In that case, Loki planned out a route in his mind that would allow him to grab provisions before teleporting. He calculated the maximum amount of time he could risk staying on Midgard once Asgard knew his whereabouts.

He also tried to deduce why his magic was hurting him. It didn’t make sense. He thought back—it had hurt when Thor had set fire to the magazine, but it hurt in a different way. Like fire was burning his skin. Loki assumed then (and now) that it was because of his weakened state. This, this all-encompassing pain, was as though an invisible force was literally pulling something out of him. The change had first occurred when Loki summoned the fire to burn the thread. Then had followed the strange panicking and boiling of power inside of him that he could hardly control. That couldn’t have been brought on by weakening, though. This pain couldn’t. This difficulty reaching magic. When his voice had been freed, he’d _felt_ long-lost power surging through him. Only after that feeling did magic begin to hurt. Even now, it felt very quiet inside of him. Loki, with a feeling of dread, began to conjure up a teleportation wormhole in front of him.

He let out a small gasp, and he heard Steve look up.

“You okay?”

Loki didn’t answer, struggling with the unmoving implosion of something inside of him. He would make this work, he would bring it, he was not weak—

He felt the beginnings of one, but it struggled against him, lashed out, like reality fought a beginning magic-user.

“Hey! Cut that out!” Steve jumped up.

Loki opened his eyes and glanced at him, letting the void dissipate. He nodded once, then looked back forward and closed his eyes again. Adrenaline surged through him. When he gained his voice, he’d lost his power. He didn’t know how. He checked once more that his invisibility was still in place—it was. This he could not explain either. But he understood something now.

He was trapped on Midgard.

He had to convince Thor to let him stay.

Minutes ticked by, and Steve finally sat back down. Not much more time passed before he stood back up again, saying, “I’ll go get Thor now.” He shut the book and picked up his shield. “And you two can have your talk.”

“I will not allow anyone else in the room,” said Loki. 

“Sure.” 

“And I will not have anyone eavesdropping or watching us through JARVIS,” Loki continued, opening his eyes.

Steve hesitated. “You know about JARVIS?”

Loki gave that indulgent smile again. “I have been residing with you for several weeks now. JARVIS would be quite hard to miss.”

“Right.” Steve gave him a long, studious look. “I guess you were the one who put that porn in my room?” Loki inclined his head. Steve shifted and tightened his grip on the shield. “That was a nasty trick to play.”

“Indeed.”

“Why did you do it?” Steve’s voice had gotten tight. He was still angry.

Loki gave him a long look. “My own reasons.”

Steve nodded, obviously not satisfied with the answer, but apparently satisfied that this was the only answer Loki would give him. “I can’t just leave you by yourself in here with Thor,” he said, in way of revenge.

“If I had wanted to assassinate Asgard’s crown prince, I would have done it before showing myself to you.” Loki almost said ‘while you thought I was asleep’, but he caught himself. 

“But you wanted him to cut the string.”

Loki smiled a little. At least Steve was catching on and not taking Loki at his first word. “After he cut the string, naturally, when I disappeared. I could have killed him in the following hours if I wished, as I was gone from his sight. Besides, I do not require you to be out of earshot should Thor cry out for help.”

“All right then,” Steve said. “Wait here.”

As if he would leave now. After mere minutes, Loki heard the thundering footsteps long before Thor burst through the door like a herd of bilgesnipe and all but tackled him, dragging him partway off of the bed.

“Brother! You are awake! How do you fare? Are you recovered?”

Loki found himself half-hanging in midair, with Thor’s arms crushing him and his hands barely able to brush the bed-coverings behind him. 

“Thor!” he spat out in humiliated anger, “Let go of me!”

Thor did, so quickly that Loki lost his balance and had to quickly sit down again.

“I am sorry!” Thor apologized, with the closest expression he had to a mischievous smirk, “I did not bruise you, did I?”

“No more than usual,” Loki grumbled, pulling his clothing back into place and smoothing his hair back.

“How do you feel?” Thor pressed.

Loki knew he wouldn’t let up on Loki’s condition until Loki convinced him he was all right. “I am rested and fed,” he replied. “I will recover entirely shortly.”

Thor’s face melted in childish relief and he grasped Loki’s shoulder, with a gentle shake. “I am glad, Brother.”

Loki desperately wanted to correct the name, but he couldn’t risk distancing Thor. So instead he nodded. Thor became more serious. “What is it you need to discuss with me, Loki?”

Loki inclined his head towards the door. “Shut the door, please.” Thor went to do as he asked. “JARVIS?”

“Yes sir,” the AI responded.

Loki’s mind knitted his thoughts together, reviewing them, trying out phrases silently, deciding which would convince Thor of Loki’s danger. He could not say what the Other really wanted, because Thor would never believe it, or the severity. Loki had to convince him in other ways. “You are aware of the agreement Steve Rogers and I made?”

“Yes sir.”

Thor came back and sat down on the bed next to him.

“Then you will share this conversation, or the imaging in this room, with no one.”

“As you wish, sir.”

“What is wrong, Loki?” Thor asked, putting his hand on Loki’s shoulder again. Loki did not look at him.

“I made an agreement with the Chitauri,” Loki said. “They made it quite clear that should I fail in the conquest of Midgard, and they did not receive the Tesseract, they would come after me.”

“Come after you?” Thor sounded puzzled. “They could not penetrate Asgard’s defenses. You will be safe there, Loki.”

“You overestimate Asgard’s defenses,” Loki replied. “And you underestimate the Chitauri’s ally.”

“You could have told Father, Loki! He would have protected you.”

“‘Father’ would have done no such thing.” Loki let out a dry laugh. “What a fitting sentence: to be punished by your own associates.”

“Father will protect you,” Thor insisted. “He loves you, Loki.”

“As much as one can love a disobedient dog, perhaps.” Loki stood and stepped away from the bed, his back to Thor. He paused, and turned back. “You said earlier that you had thought I was dead.”

“Yes.”

Loki frowned. “What did you mean by that?”

“Exactly what I said.” Thor stood and, again tremulously, as if afraid he would vanish into mist, put both hands on Loki’s shoulders. “What happened, Loki? You were dead. Father announced it—we mourned. Heimdall _saw_ you _die_.”

“Odin told you this?” Loki pressed, feeling an inkling of dread. If the Allfather had made this up, then he could be pursuing Loki for his own reasons—

“Heimdall did, to both of us. He asked to see Father alone, but Father said that as Crown Prince I was to be present for any matter Heimdall considered pressing.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Thor,” said Loki, irritation prickling him as it always did when he did not understand something. “Why did Heimdall tell you I had died?”

“He saw you,” Thor repeated. Loki was about to snap angrily that Thor had already said that, but Thor continued. “He had been looking for you since you—disappeared. He had almost given up, but then you called out to him, in fear and urgency. He found you, but only had time to see a monster from Nifelheim—destroy you, and then—turn away--” Thor swallowed, and his fingers trembled and tightened on Loki’s shoulders. The Aesir were sentimental fools. Loki stood here right in front of him; why was he weeping?

“I…see,” Loki said at last, stepping back to free himself from Thor’s grip. He turned away again, thinking. It appeared that Thor did not have any idea that Loki could hide himself from Heimdall’s sight. Heimdall did know—and likely Odin did as well—but apparently Loki’s genuine cry for help (Heimdall could always tell when such cries were genuine), and subsequent disappearance, and the lack of time for Heimdall to truly see what was going on, led him to believe Loki had truly perished. Or he was hiding that truth from Thor—but, if Odin had decreed that Heimdall hide nothing from Thor, then Heimdall would not. 

“What truly happened, Loki?” Thor whispered.

It didn’t seemed wrong that Heimdall could be fooled in such a way. But, Loki had been weakened, and Heimdall would have known that so perhaps…perhaps, sometimes, Loki got very, very lucky. “Heimdall grows old,” Loki said, slowly, and unconvinced. “I was attacked, but I teleported away in time, as the creature came down on me. I suppose he simply misread what he saw.”

“Oh,” Thor looked dubious, but he didn’t argue. 

“Thor, is it widely known that I am…dead?” Now that he knew the misunderstanding, Loki did not bother to hide the amused spin he put on the word.

“Yes,” said Thor. “Father decreed it, and…well, Asgard did not really mourn, but Father and Mother and…I did.” After a moment, he added, “Loki, please allow me to tell Father and Mother that you are alive.”

“No!” Loki burst out, spinning to face Thor again.  “My safety depends on the Chitauri being unable to find me—and if they think I am dead, that more than triples my good chances.”

“Father would not tell them,” Thor said, nose wrinkling. He looked so comical that Loki almost felt amused. 

“I would say differently.” Loki raised his chin.

“Loki!” Thor protested.

Loki let black void substance grow over his fingers. It hurt, but he did it anyway. “If you tell Asgard—any Aesir, I will leave,” he threatened. “And not return. I cannot say I will live long like—this!” he tossed his head, indicating the deep lines in his face. “But I would rather die an outcast or a tortured prisoner than be handed over by the man I once called ‘Father’!”

Thor stared at him with his ‘hurt puppy’ eyes before sighing. “You need not leave, Loki. I will not tell.”

“And neither will your friends,” Loki pressed.

“And neither will the Avengers,” Thor agreed. 

“And no one else will know of my being here.”

“Yes, Loki,” Thor said, looking at his hands. Then he glanced back up with a worried frown. “What if Heimdall sees you?”

Loki shrugged, allowing the void to hang from his hand like a broken spider’s web as it dissipated. “Just give him no reason to look here,” he said. Loki’s invisibility to Heimdall included anybody and anything that he interacted with. That was how he had dealt with the Jotuns without Heimdall’s knowledge.

Thor nodded, a hopeful smile coming onto his face. “Perhaps, Loki, if you stay here long enough…with your power…but without malice, you may soon return to Asgard to have your punishments lifted.”

Loki just looked at him for a moment, unable to rouse scorn. Only pity. Odin really should have listened to him. Ministers would take enormous advantage of Thor if they could make Thor fond of them. What must it be like to hold such idiotic, undeserved adoration of somebody? Loki couldn’t muster the willingness to crush Thor’s self-enforced happiness again. “Perhaps,” he said, quietly. At least that added another incentive to allow him to stay. 

 Loki was rewarded (punished?) by badly concealed hopeful joy spreading over Thor’s face. 

“I will inform the others and warn them against speaking of you!” Thor announced, almost bouncing off of the bed. “Stay here and rest, Brother. I will see to it that the Chitauri will not touch you.”

Loki smiled at him until he shut the door, then he sank back down on the bed and pressed his fingertips to his forehead. If only it were that simple: revenge-driven mindless beasts. He had to be very careful, especially if Odin and Heimdall suspected he was still alive. Any more commotion caused by Asgard trying to recover him would lead the Chitauri and the Other directly to him.

ɤ

A chorus of indignant voices protested as soon as Thor finished.

“No.” 

“We can’t do that!”

“I don’t want to rent my space to an insane demigod!”

“Thor,” Jane clutched her notebook to her chest. “We can’t! You may have forgotten, but I remember—he _killed_ you. I saw him—that thing—hit you. You  died.” Tears trembled in her voice, but her eyes were clear. “He took over Erik’s mind--”

“And mine,” Clint muttered.

“—and almost got _him_ killed.”

Thor stood with his arms crossed. “I am aware of this,” he said. 

“So is that it?” Clint snapped. “We’re just disposable collateral?”

Thor let his arms fall. “No.”

“The thing is, Thor,” Steve, silent before, spoke up. “We know he’s your brother, but we—I—can’t risk danger to the team by keeping him here.”

“You risked it before,” Thor said, looking dejected, but stubborn.

“Yeah, ‘cause he was unconscious,” said Tony.

“We don’t know his motivations,” Natasha stated, her own arms crossed as she stood next to Clint. 

“He—” Thor began.

“He _said,_ ” Natasha interrupted. “But would Chitauri really come kidnap him for revenge’s sake after we just destroyed their army? Powerful or not?”

“He could just be leeching our resources until he feels better, and then hop out whenever he likes,” Tony said, looking peeved.

“Or,” Steve said. “He could attempt to unravel us from the inside—find our vital information and use it against us.”

“But he does have a motivation to be telling the truth,” Thor said.

“You know, Loki benefited from you guys thinking he was dead before,” said Steve. “That led to him getting an entire army without your knowledge.”

“If he leaves, I will tell Father he is alive. He knows that.”

“What makes you think he can’t somehow contact and raise another army? I don’t like it.” Steve shrugged. “I can’t help it, Thor. He’s still Loki, and he can still wreak havoc if he has an inkling to do it, even if people are chasing him. I can’t endanger our team.”

Silence fell over the group, and the Avengers (plus Jane and Pepper) watched Thor’s face. It didn’t change. Despondent, resolved.

“I think it’s fine,” Bruce said quietly.

“You what?” Tony grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “Are you out of your senses?” Bruce shoved Tony back. 

“Bruce, he called you a mindless beast,” Natasha said.

Bruce shrugged. “Not the first time I’ve been called that. You think I can handle Tony’s shaking, but not name-calling?”

“But—” Steve began.

“Loki’s claim is legitimate,” said Bruce. “I guess you guys don’t remember; Loki has four different planets after him. He almost blew up this—” he nodded to Thor, “Jotunheim? He took over Asgard to do it, and then against all Asgardian principles tried to take over Earth—but failed, and so failed the Chitauri.”

“Which is exactly why he can’t stay here!” Clint burst out. Natasha turned her palm towards him.

Bruce fixed his calm gaze on him. “If we make him go, he could be subjected to long-lasting torture, Clint.”

“What do you think having my mind sucked out was?” Clint demanded, clenching his hand in a way that indicated an invisible bow. “It’s what he deserves!”

“Clint,” Natasha said quietly. He ignored her.

“As far as I care, he could be burned alive a thousand times, have his guts ripped apart, and I wouldn’t make a single move to help him.”

“Barton!” Thor stepped forward, eyes burning. “I will not have you speak about my brother in such a way!”

Clint stepped forward too, face so—openly angry that Thor felt his stomach drop in astonishment.

Natasha, in one smooth motion, stepped between them and turned sideways, one hand against Clint’s shoulder, and the other held up in Thor’s direction.

“Stop,” she commanded, and then looked at Clint.

He looked back for several long seconds, then shook her hand off and stalked out of the room.

Shocked silence pervaded for a moment.             

“As I was saying,” Bruce said at last, “Loki legitimately has a reason to want to hide here, with the one person he knows will protect him if anybody comes for him. Which means he also has every reason to behave himself so he doesn’t get kicked out.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that we’re hiding a criminal,” Tony grumbled.

“No, it doesn’t, but it does change the fact that we were hiding him for no reason.” Bruce shrugged. “If there’s a danger in the room, I’d like to be able to see it.”

“What do you mean?” Thor asked.

“I mean,” said Bruce, “Loki is much less likely to cause mischief if we hide him. If we kick him out, he’ll have to take some sort of action to protect himself. This way, we’re protecting the realms, preventing injustice towards Loki—” he shot a look at Tony “—even though he’s a criminal—and upholding Asgardian law as best we can. The worst we can be accused of is negligence and bad reasoning.”

“I still don’t like it,” Steve said.

“Neither do I,” said Bruce. “But what else can we do?”

Steve fixed his eyes on Thor. Thor looked back. If they told him Loki couldn’t stay, then he would leave with his brother. Steve knew that.

“I guess…when you put it that way…” Tony ran a hand through his hair. Jane sighed, but didn’t say anything else. Pepper looked nervous.

Natasha looked at Steve, thin-lipped, her arms crossed once more. “Captain?”

“He can stay,” Steve said at last. “For a while. If he behaves.”

Natasha nodded curtly, then turned and left the room in the same direction as Clint.

Thor breathed deeply. “Thank you,” he said to Steve. He grasped Bruce’s hand, and then went to tell Loki what had transpired.

ɤ

Loki sat cross-legged on the bed again with his eyes closed. 

_Perhaps,_ he thought, _simple manipulations…_

He’d done it once to JARVIS, he could do it again. He should be able to do it again. It was already there in front of him, the codes laid out, all he had to do was move one, scramble one, change the layout—

“Sir,” JARVIS broke his concentration. Loki frowned. “Are you—excuse me, I don’t know what I should call you.”

Loki opened his eyes. The AI wanted to know his last name, so he could stick the Midgardian “Mr.” in front of it. “Call me Loki,” he said, feeling a little ridiculous addressing blank air.

“Very well, Mr. Loki—”

“Just Loki,” Loki interrupted.

“As you wish,” JARVIS said. Loki smiled a little, and resolved to call the AI—as they were exchanging names—Jarvis the name, instead of the acronym. Why not. “Loki,” Jarvis continued, “Are you tampering with my sensors?”

Loki blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“You have shown to have the ability to tamper with my sensors. Are you doing so now?”

Loki stopped immediately. “Of course not. How rude of you to suggest such a thing.”

“I have been instructed to ensure that you ‘do not get into mischief’.” Jarvis quoted the order with its—his?—calm blandness. “I apologize if I seem rude at times.”

Loki dipped his head graciously. “Of course. Pray, carry on.”

The AI answered with silence. Loki tapped his fingers against his knees in a bored staccato. He began to feel very tired, and he was hungry again.

As if in answer, the door opened and Bruce Banner entered bearing another tray. “Hi,” he said, setting it down on the bedside table.

“Hello,” Loki answered. 

Bruce straightened and dusted his hands. “How are you feeling?”

Loki narrowed his eyes. “Quite all right.”

Bruce nodded, jerking his head at the tray. “You can eat that now, or I’ll just come back later for it.”

Loki half-shrugged and leaned over, pulling the tray up onto his knees. He summoned the lightning again and inhaled quickly, setting his fingers to the tray in a jerk, where the magic swarmed out of him. The corner of Loki’s eye twitched, but he didn’t grimace. Bruce stood with his hands in his pockets, frowning and watching him a little too closely for comfort.

“You okay?”

“Never better,” Loki said, and then took a bite of the colorful array of Midgardian fruit so he wouldn’t have to say anything else.

Bruce still watched him with a vigilance unlike the nervous stares he got from the other Avengers.

“I understand,” Loki said as he picked up a roughly triangular red fruit with his fingers, “That I have you to thank for my being permitted to lodge here.”

“Logical outcome, that’s all. I guess I was the only one clear-headed enough to see that.”

Loki gave a small smile at the irony. The Avenger labeled with anger management issues was the clear-headed one. “Other than Thor,” he said, drinking from the glass.

“Thor’s not clear-headed when it comes to you,” said Bruce. Blunt, this one. “No matter what he says, if you start acting up, you’ll have to leave.”

“If you are going to frighten me, you had better practice a little more,” said Loki, wiping his mouth with the napkin. “I am quite used to threats.”

“It’s not a threat, Loki. It’s a warning. You done with that?”

Loki inclined his head and handed the tray over. “Thank you.”

Bruce looked surprised. He hesitated before leaving. “If you do need something, tell me. I treated you while you were sleeping. I’m not well-versed in Aesir or Jotun, but I’m still a doctor.” Loki raised an eyebrow and didn’t answer. Bruce left.

At long last, the light outside the window began to darken, and Loki allowed himself to lie down. He stared at the light illuminating from his hand until he fell asleep.

ɤ

_Loki sat on his heels, peering through the hedge at Thor. His brother held a stick and laughed, jumping at Volstagg who blocked the blow with his own stick. Thor spun around him and Volstagg ducked away before Thor could hit him in the back._

_“I will destroy you, Frost Giant!” Thor shouted. “And you shall terrorize the Realms no more!”_

_“RAAAHH!” Volstagg shouted in return, wild red curls bobbing, while he slashed at Thor’s legs with his thick, stubby branch. Thor bopped him on the head._

_“You are dead,” he announced, and Volstagg obediently flopped onto the ground with his mouth open and tongue sticking out. Thor danced around the body yelling triumphantly. After a few seconds of being ‘dead’, Volstagg grinned and jumped up._

_“Now,” Thor spun in a circle and waved his hand over his stick. “I shall use Mjolnir!”_

_“How come I always have to be the Frost Giant?” Volstagg complained. “It’s my turn to be the warrior.”_

_“But I am so much better at being the warrior!” Thor said, striking a heroic pose. “And you are so much better at being a Frost Giant. You are so big and blunder around everywhere.”_

_“It’s my turn,” Volstagg insisted._

_“I am a prince and you have to do what I say,” Thor said smugly._

_“No I don’t,” Volstagg crossed his arms. “It is your turn to be the Frost Giant, or I am not playing anymore.”_

_“Oh, all right,” Thor said quickly. He and Volstagg switched weapons. Loki wrapped his arms around his knees._

_“Loki!”_

_Loki jumped, startled, and fell over onto his back. Fandral leaned over him. “Why are you hiding back here?”_

_“I’m not hiding,” Loki lied._

_“Loki? Fandral?” Thor and Volstagg broke off the beginning of their next fight and came around the hedge._

_“There you are!” Thor proclaimed triumphantly, running over to them both. “You’re finally here!”_

_“He was hiding back here,” Fandral said as Thor pulled Loki to his feet._

_“No I was not,” Loki dusted himself off._

_“Yes you were.”_

_“I was not hiding. I was watching.” Loki wished he could run away and disappear, but he remembered Frigga’s reaction those two nights ago, and he didn’t want to risk it._

_“Come on, now we shall have a better game,” Thor said cheerfully. He pulled the others back around the bushes to the far side._

_“Father does not like us to play warriors and Frost Giants,” Loki protested as Thor pulled out more stick-weapons from their place in the bushes. “He says—”_

_“Father’s not here, he won’t know. Besides, Father fought and slew them for real, and we are only playing,” Thor turned. “Shall we do teaming, or warrior versus army?”_

_Loki looked at the ground. “I don’t want to play.”_

_“What?” Thor looked startled. “Why not?”_

_“I just don’t.” He didn’t. Since he had shown Frigga and Odin his trick, he felt afraid to do anything. What else did he do that was wrong and didn’t know it?_

_“You have been far too despondent these past few days,” Thor scolded him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Loki, you can be the warrior.”_

_“But it was my turn!” Volstagg grumbled._

_“We can be the sons of Odin against Laufey and his army!” Thor coaxed._

_“It was my turn!” Volstagg said, louder._

_“All right, it can be one son of Odin and Volstagg,” Thor said, with a scowl in Volstagg’s direction. “Please, Loki?”_

_“All right,” Loki relented, accepting a stick weapon from Thor. Soon, their laughter and shouts came from behind the hedge, and for a time, Loki forgot his troubles as he defended the Nine Realms against the monsters of Jotunheim._

ɤ

_Crash._

Tony muttered a curse, groping in the dark. The bed rustled. A sigh.

“Stark. I do not suppose asking you to carry on your three a.m. excursions elsewhere would have much of an effect?”

“Nope,” Tony ran his armored hands along the wall, searching for the switch. He could see almost nothing of Loki, other than the glowing blue lines. “You look creepy like that. Where’s the light—”

“Two inches up on the left.”

Tony found the switch and the light flickered on. He winced, considering lowering his visor. Loki grinned at the sight of him. Yeah, yeah, he was probably very proud that he could cause precautions. 

“There’s a window,” Tony said in answer to his grin. Loki laughed. Tony frowned and leaned over, scooping the equipment back into the box. Then he clanked forward next to the bed and surveyed the room. 

“I do hope you are not here because you had a nightmare. I am afraid I would be most unsympathetic.”

“Why?” Tony didn’t look at him, still surveying the room. “Don’t you have nightmares?”

“No.” 

Tony blinked, surprised. Was that his way of stating he had a clear conscience? “Well. Lucky you, then. No, I’m here to make sure your magic is limited and your escape is unlikely.”

“Escape,” Loki murmured. “I am the one who came to you.”

“Yeah, but you can’t leave now.” Tony set the box down on the floor and pulled out a screwdriver and torch. He went to the security camera set in a corner, pulling up a folding chair and standing on it. “It’s really interesting, actually, why you’re here. Bruce convinced us your story _might_ be true, but we still aren’t thrilled to have you as a house guest.”

“Believe me, if I had anywhere else to go, I would not have come here.” 

“Must be humiliating, huh? Begging for help from the guys you tried to kill a few months ago?” Tony knew he probably shouldn’t be speaking to Loki like this when he had his back to him, but he didn’t care.

“I hardly think preferring to not die qualifies as begging.” Loki sounded angry.

“So your life is in our hands. Cool.” Tony stepped down from the camera and moved the chair to the next corner. Loki watched him. 

“My life is in my own hands.”

“Whatever.”

Loki leaned forward with his chin resting on his folded hands, his elbows against his knees. After a moment, he quipped, “You take pleasure in helplessness, do you not?”

“Depends on who’s helpless,” said Tony.

“I am not.”

“I’d beg to differ on that. Anyway, it’s quite certain you enjoy others being helpless.” Tony jerked at a wire. Outside, the bright city lights illuminated the rubble. “Do you feel guilty at all about what you’ve done?”

Loki smiled. “You would not believe me, no matter what I said.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Having the nickname ‘Liesmith’ kind of kills the trust factor.”

Loki straightened, his smile fading. “I was called a liar many times before I became one.”

Tony slowed his work, watching Loki out of the corner of his eye. That couldn’t be true, could it?

“You do not believe that either, naturally.” Loki leaned back against his headboard. “But sometimes, simply treating an individual as someone not to be trusted can turn them into just that.”

Tony shook his head. “If you’re trying to stir up empathy, it’s not working.” Loki suddenly grinned, manically, staring into space. Tony turned to stare at him. He was insane. Even if he was a natural liar, never being taken at your word must get to you eventually. No wonder his mind had snapped. “Quite the hole you’ve dug for yourself, isn’t it?” Tony asked quietly.

Loki’s gaze flickered back to him. “That would depend on your definition of ‘hole’,” he said cheerfully. “It is actually quite freeing.”

“But nobody believes what you say. Doesn’t that make your precious words useless?”

“You would think.” Loki grinned again, wickedly. “I am not called Silvertongue for nothing.”

Creepy bastard. “So’d you get the nickname before or after with that one?” Tony asked sarcastically. Loki just smiled. Tony turned back to his work. “Even if it’s freeing, it’s got to be really lonely, isn’t it?”

The smile left Loki’s face. “Some of us prefer being alone.”

Tony had heard that before. “Sure,” he said, “But all of us, when we can’t get what we really need, pretend that we never wanted it in the first place.”

Loki stared at him for a moment, and then let out a shout of laughter. His eyes burned with delight. He was enjoying this, Tony realized, this word-war.

“Tony Stark,” said Loki, his voice thick with amusement, “You and I are more alike than you would care to admit.”

Tony tightened his grip on the torch and stepped down from the chair. “We,” he ground out. “Are nothing alike.” 

Loki smiled, clasping his hands together and leaning his chin on them again. “There is a very small difference between a hero and a villain.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, “It’s a choice. And _some of us_ choose to not go around killing people and taking over worlds.”

“And what if the intentions were good?”

“Your intentions,” Tony pointed the screwdriver at him, “Are never good. You go around acting careless, like none of this is a big deal. Ruined lives mean nothing to you. You treat this like it’s a game.”

Loki continued to smile, speaking softly. “Is that so…Merchant of Death?”

Tony stiffened, his heart staggering. He threw his tools into the box and held up both of his hands, the suit powering up and ready to fire—multiple times, if necessary. Loki straightened, smile gone, deadly serious, every muscle tensed. Tony struggled to control himself. He couldn’t just blast Loki to smithereens, no matter how tempting it was. Thor would kill him. Tony lowered his hands with an effort, grabbed the box, and left the room.

He slammed the door shut behind him and locked it with the multiple manual, electrical and (hopefully) magical bolts. He toyed with the idea of melding the bolt to the metal doorframe.

“Sir?”

“Shut up, Jarvis.” Tony all but ran down the hallway, down to his workshop, shaking all over. He was furious. Not with Loki, but with himself. He’d known that Loki would try to unwind him. He’d known. But he’d still stood there like a total dope and let him do it. 

It wasn’t the first time somebody had called him that, of course. Tony still got hate mail now and then. But nobody had used his own words like that—what he’d accused Loki of—shot right back at him, mocking. No, no, it wasn’t _like_ that. He’d changed, that was in the past—all of it.

Tony hated this building, sometimes. A love-hate. His home, his work, it was all his—a part of him. But all of the bad along with the good. He wanted to demolish it sometimes, as if getting rid of it would erase his own memory. 

Loki was lying when he said he didn’t have nightmares. He had to be. And they'd invited this lunatic to stay with them. Tony made it down to one of his bar-rooms and drank down a huge glass of something—he didn’t bother looking to see what it was, and his thoughts were so preoccupied that he didn’t taste any of it. Then he pulled down his visor and walked outside, leaping off the balcony.

ɤ

Loki hadn’t been lying. He didn’t have any dreams at all. He’d stopped them long ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, we enter the mind of the lovely Pepper Potts. :)
> 
> ~caramell


	5. Incite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some frank descriptions of blood, though there are no dripping guts.

Pepper took a deep breath as she pushed through the tower’s front doors. It looked peaceful enough. She returned her ID card to her purse and went to the elevator, heels clicking on the floor. She probably should have worn flats today. Heels weren’t good for running in. The doors closed behind her and Pepper scolded herself for being overdramatic. Even so, as she reached the tenth floor, she double-checked that her taser—purchased yesterday—was snug within the inside pocket of her suit jacket. The doors slid open and she peeked out. Still peaceful. Nothing upset that would indicate a mighty magic vs. thunder-repulsers-Hulk battle had taken place last night. 

Pepper stepped out and went to her office, setting her belongings down on the desk. She emerged again and went to the little kitchen to make a cup of coffee. She hadn’t been able to stand the suspense to take the time to make one at home, or buy one on the way here. Bruce was already in there, stirring a steaming saucepan on the stove. Beside him sat a tray with a bowl of sliced fruit and two steaming mugs.

“Good morning,” she greeted.

“Morning,” Bruce answered with a small smile. He jerked his head to the side. “There’s some fresh coffee in the pot, if you want it.”

“You read my mind. Thanks.” Pepper grabbed a mug and pulled the pot from the maker. “Everything go okay last night?”

“Mm-hm. Nice and quiet. I checked the cameras when I got up; he’s still in there.”

Pepper leaned against the counter holding the mug under her nose and breathing deeply. Mmmm. Bruce always made coffee from beans he roasted himself. Everyone else was too lazy to do it. Thor was willing to learn, but he broke one maker trying, and, despite Bruce’s urges, was too afraid to try again. “Loki’s first night was a success then.”

Bruce pulled the saucepan off of the heat and scooped spoonfuls of brown oatmeal into a bowl. “Yeah. Could you do me a favor?”

Pepper nodded. “Sure. What do you need?”

He added brown sugar and cinnamon. “Could you take him his breakfast? I left in the middle of something in the workshop downstairs.”

Pepper set down her mug with a clunk. Bruce slid the bowl on the tray next to some silverware and looked up. She smiled. “Of course.” Pepper prided herself on her smile. She wasn’t much of an actor, but plenty of practice dealing with Tony and annoying entrepreneurs and marketers had her ‘pleasant expression’ perfected.

“Thanks.” Bruce poured himself some coffee and left the room.

Pepper took a deep breath and picked up the tray. She started to leave the kitchen, then abruptly went back and plunked her own coffee cup on it as well. Then she went, back straight, to the elevator. Loki’s room was pretty high up. She supposed that even an Asgardian couldn’t survive the fall, if Loki decided to jump out of the window. And if he ever got out of the room, he’d have a lot of floors to cover to get to the ground floor.

She felt the taser through her jacket again as she stepped out on Loki’s floor. It wasn’t that she was scared of Loki, exactly. In theory, his magic was severely limited and so was his strength. He’d fainted dead away from hunger and fatigue a week ago, for crying out loud. She’d gone in yesterday out of curiosity, the way you would go see a strange, horrifying specimen in a museum. 

But…

She could still remember, leaning forward in her seat on the plane, watching the news in growing horror. And then, belatedly, footage coming on from a brave amateur reporter filming in a high building far from the heart of New York City. Tony flying into that—black hole portal thing, and then…he stayed there, for so long, and then it started to close and she couldn’t breathe, and then he fell out—and was falling. Not just dropping because his suit had powered down—he’d been in outer space, after all. Even the suit couldn’t cope with some environments—but from the way he just dropped like a stone, unmoving, not fighting, and she knew he wasn’t conscious. She hadn’t even felt afraid. Not horrified. She just remembered being very, very cold. She sat there, feeling like the ice sculpture that Tony had ordered for her last birthday. And then Tony fell out of sight behind buildings and that was it. 

Pepper took a shaky breath and tried to clear her head. Tony wasn’t dead, the Hulk had caught him, and he was fine. Probably passed out downstairs somewhere, but fine.

Pepper found Loki’s door. She leaned forward and knocked firmly on the thick wood. Silence. Bruce, Pepper realized, hadn’t said Loki was awake—just that he was still there. Crap. She didn’t want to deal with a bleary-eyed, irritated Norse god criminal.

Pepper considered going back downstairs until he was awake, when a clear voice finally came from inside.

“You may enter.”

 _Oh, may I?_ Pepper said mentally to the lofty voice. She balanced the tray on one hand and undid the locks— _Good grief, Tony, I think you’ve gone a little overboard_ —then shoved the door open with her foot.

Loki turned away from the window, his hands clasped behind his back. She found herself struck by his eyes—which, thankfully, were not bleary. He looked as though he had been awake for quite some time. His eyes were very clear, guarded, menacing. Dark green and shining, looking straight at her, but not seeming to see her.

“Good morning,” she ventured, forcing her pleasant smile. Loki acknowledged the greeting with a small nod, his face blank. She got the feeling he was surprised to see her.

“You know,” he said, not moving, “You are the first person to ask for permission to enter.”

“Oh?” Pepper shifted her grip on the tray. “Habit, I suppose. Tony throws a fit if I don’t knock before going into his lab.” She ventured a few steps forward and held out the tray. Loki took it and sat down in the chair next to the window. He looked down at it, then back up.

“Why are…?”

“Oops.” Pepper blushed as she picked up one of the mugs. “This one’s mine. Um.” she peered at the other two. “That one’s coffee—Thor loves it—and this looks like…” she picked up the other mug and sniffed it. “Some sort of tea?” She set it back down and stepped away, holding her coffee with her left hand, in case she had to reach for the taser with her right.

Loki studied the two drinks. “Thor likes this…coffee?”

“Adores it.” Pepper nodded. “And Bruce’s is famous…around here, anyway.” She watched him while blue light oozed from his hand and buzzed through the food. “Why do you do that? I told you we won’t poison you.”

Loki glanced up. “Would you trust anything I gave you to eat?”

Pepper didn’t answer. Loki flipped his hand in the air in a there-you-are manner and then proceeded to ignore her while he slowly ate. Pepper leaned against the wall and drank her coffee, doing her best to not stare at him. The circles under his eyes were unbelievable. They extended almost entirely around his eyes, and so dark they looked like bruising. The gauntness of his figure and the slow, careful way he ate made Pepper feel hungry, even though she’d eaten only a half-hour ago. If she hadn’t known better, she would have wondered if he had cancer or something.

Several minutes passed before Pepper realized she wasn’t afraid anymore.

Eventually Loki rose and crossed the room, handing the tray back to her. Then she realized she was still afraid, nerves roiling in her stomach. Pepper plunked her own mug down on it before taking it. Her palms brushed his fingers as she closed her hands around the handles. An icy chill stabbed through her hands. Pepper couldn’t tell if it was her imagination, or if Loki really did pull back with sudden quickness.

“Thanks,” she said, startled, adjusting her grip on the tray. “See you.”

Loki gave a curt nod and she left the room, closing and bolting the door behind her. She studied the leftovers in the elevator on the way down, noticing with surprise at how very much he hadn’teaten. Though she supposed that was probably wisest after a several-month fast, it didn’t seem healthy. She’d seen him try the coffee, but most of it was still in the mug, now luke-warm. Most of the tea was gone. Pepper smiled a little. 

Several hours passed. Pepper saw and exchanged a few words with most of the various Avengers. Jane came stumbling into her office mid-morning, with her hair mussed, sans makeup, and wearing a big bathrobe. 

“Mind if I crash here?” she asked, gripping a notebook and pencil. “Thor won’t get off my case, and I’m trying to work on something.”

Pepper laughed. “Sure, Jane, wherever you like.”

“Thanks.” Jane plopped down in an extra office chair and rolled it up to one side of Pepper’s desk. She bent over her notebook and began scribbling. Pepper smiled at her bowed head. She admired the way Thor and Jane stuck it out, besides being half a very large country apart. Jane did most of the traveling back and forth, as the Avengers never knew when Thor might be needed for a mission, but Thor sometimes went to New Mexico for a few days. Tony had finally unofficially given Thor and Jane one of his private jets so the traveling was easier.

Speaking of…

Pepper rose and left the office, leaving Jane to her work, and went down to Bruce’s workshop. “Hi.”

Bruce looked up and took off his glasses. “Need something?”

“No.” Pepper pulled some papers out of her folder. “Have you seen Tony? I need him to sign these.”

“Not today,” said Bruce, shaking his head with a little chuckle. Pepper leaned over to glance at the clock in the corner of one of the computer screens. She rolled her eyes. Five until noon. “Loki doing okay today?”

“He’s fine. He didn’t eat much though.”

“I know. That’s normal, I think.”

“You think?”

“Well, he’s an Asgardian.”

“I’d better go drag Tony out of bed.” Pepper shuffled the papers and put them back in the folder. “By the way…would you like me to take Loki’s breakfast every morning, to give you a bit of a break?”

Bruce tapped his fingers on the desk. “You don’t need to do that, Pepper. I could see it made you uncomfortable.”

Pepper gave a sociable, dismissive chuckle. “Oh, no, I was just a little nervous, that’s all. I don’t mind.” In actuality, Pepper was annoyed with herself. She would not tiptoe around Loki as if he were the boss here. She would stick it out until she showed him—and herself—that they were, at the least, equals. “Come on, Bruce,” she urged. “I know morning is your favorite time.”

“I do appreciate that,” Bruce said, putting his glasses back on. “I don’t think any of the others would—well, other than Thor, but somehow I don’t think that’d turn out well.”

Pepper laughed. “I don’t think he’d be brave enough to try, anyway. What kind of tea did you make Loki? I think he liked it.”

“English breakfast. It’s in the cabinet next to the coffee grounds.”

“Thanks. Good to know. I’ll see you later,” Pepper turned and started the trek towards Tony’s bedroom/bathroom/bar complex floor. More likely than not, he wouldn’t be in bed, but he usually made it back to his rooms.

Pepper searched the entire floor twice, then stopped and sank down on a leather couch with a sigh. She rubbed her forehead, shifted her grip on her papers, and asked, “JARVIS, do you know where Tony is?”

“On the roof, Miss Potts,” JARVIS answered. 

“Wha—on the roof? Not a balcony?”

“That is correct.”

“Of all the ridiculous—thanks, JARVIS.” Pepper, more than a little irritated, stomped off to the elevator again, grabbing a bottle of aspirin that sat on the table and filling a paper cup with water. Tony wouldn’t survive a day without her—he’d lose himself in the tower, die from the pain of hangovers, lose all track of time. He couldn’t even start the day without her shaking him awake. And now he couldn’t even make it inside?

Pepper had to climb a few levels of stairs to get to the door that led out onto the roof. Sure enough, Tony sat sprawled against the tower pinnacle, with a stack of bottles and containers of various emptinesses, still in his suit, but with his visor up. His head rested back, with his eyes closed. Pepper crossed her arms.

“Tony!”

His eyes cracked open. Lucky for him, the day was cloudy. “Heya, Potts.”

“What are you doing out here?”

“Enjoying the lovely view.” His voice was a little husky, and he indicated the said view with a flop of his hand. Pepper refused to be amused.

“I’m not going to see scathing internet rumors about what you did last night, am I? You didn’t even get inside. That’s pretty pathetic.”

“I didn’t want to go inside,” Tony said firmly, his eyes opening further as they adjusted to the light. 

“Sometimes, I think you still have a two-year-old mind stuck in that thick skull of yours.”

“A brilliant two-year-old?” Tony lacked his usual enthusiasm for snarkiness. Pepper peered at him. The circles under his eyes made her think of Loki.

“Tony, are you okay?”

“Just dandy,” he said, which only made Pepper more sure that he wasn’t. She crouched down next to him. 

“Something happen?”

“No.” 

Pepper was very good at catching Tony’s lies. “Well, you should come inside and get changed. It’s lunchtime already.”

“Uh-huh,” was all Tony said. He looked past her, at the skyline.

“Here.” she shook out two aspirin tablets. When Tony didn’t move, she sat down and leaned back on her hands, the expensive fabric of her suit grating against the rough roof. She ignored it. “I’m going to be helping Bruce out,” she said, casually. Tony grunted. “I’ll be taking Loki his breakfast every morning.”

Tony sat up suddenly, his suit clanking. “No, Pepper.”

She looked at him with feigned innocence. “What?”

His eyes sparked. “I don’t want you going anywhere near that lunatic.”

“Tony, I can take care of myself.” Pepper stood up, brushing off her clothes.

“Pepper,” Tony scrambled to his feet. “You need to stay away from him.”

“I don’t see why.” Pepper picked up the folder.

“Because he can hurt you, that’s why!”

“So can you, but you don’t.” Pepper crossed her arms again.

“ _I_ didn’t rip up New York City last year!” Tony snapped.

Pepper wasn’t intimidated. “What did he say to you?”

“What?”

“Loki. Did you go make those modifications to his room last night?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he—said anything—to me.” Tony shifted his weight.

“Tony Stark, I can read you like a book and you know it. What did he say to you?”

Tony sighed and grumbled, “Nothing important, Pepper. Nothing relevant. But that’s the way he is—he gets inside your head with the littlest things and plays with you.”

“He played with you?”

“No,” Tony said quickly, “But he really pissed me off. I’d hate to think what he’d do to you.” 

“What’s he going to say to me? I’m a CEO, but the only connections I have to government or military is through you. I don’t fight bad guys. I don’t have deep dark secrets. Take your aspirin.” Tony, looking out at the skyline again, pulled off one of his gloves and obediently popped the tablets into his mouth. Pepper held out the water and as he drank, added, “I could have been one of his old servants for all the attention he paid me this morning.”

Tony choked, spewing water everywhere. “You saw him this morning?”

“Yes. I took him his breakfast.” Tony held up one finger, opening his mouth, but before he could spew rantings along with the water, Pepper said, “If you didn’t sleep such sporadic hours, you would have been there to stop me.”

“Pepper!” 

“Look, if he starts bothering me, I’ll let you take over the job.” Pepper patted Tony’s shoulder and went down the stairs ahead of him. Tony kept arguing with her all the way down to his floor, but she remained adamant. She now had another reason to stay stubborn: finding out what Loki had said to make Tony so upset. There was something about Loki that had everyone on edge. If it was any other villain locked up there, she could imagine the creative discussions about what to do to prevent his escape, what party they would throw when they were rid of him, complain about what a pain in the backside he was. But nobody wanted to bring him up. Like he was a bad omen that they all would rather pretend wasn’t there. Maybe it was merely what Tony had said: that he got inside your head and messed with you. Loki did something to the Avengers, and Pepper couldn’t imagine what. 

Besides, it was true: what could Loki say to unravel her? She simply didn’t have a dark past like the Avengers did. 

Tony eventually gave up convincing her, swearing up and down that he’d go with her every morning to prevent mischief. Pepper agreed amiably. And then Tony didn’t wake up in time, and Pepper went up by herself.

As she entered, Loki raised an eyebrow. “You again?”

“Me again.” She gave him the tray and retreated to lean against the wall and drink her coffee. He didn’t look any better than he did yesterday and said nothing until he gave the tray back. 

“May I make a request?” he asked as he handed it to her.

Surprised, Pepper’s aim was off and the tray wobbled dangerously before she got a firm hold on it. “Of course,” she said with her pleasant smile, and then braced herself for an un-givable favor.

“The tea,” he said, voice deadpan. “Can you make it sweeter?”

“What?” Pepper let out a little laugh, her forehead wrinkling. 

“Can you make the tea sweeter.” Loki repeated, without changing expression.

“Uh…yes, of course. I can add some sugar.” 

“Thank you.” Loki nodded his ‘farewell’ nod and turned his back to her. Pepper left, feeling strangely…amused. The image of an insane would-be tyrant liking sweet tea tickled her pink. She could hardly believe he’d actually bothered to ask. Maybe…if he saw that, even though they didn’t like or trust him, they would be good to him, he would...

 _Do what, Pepper?_ She asked herself. _Regain his humanity? Er…Aesirity? Jotunity? I have no idea how to say that…what does he call himself, anyway?_

She also found his humble loftiness a little bewildering. He’d asked permission to make a harmless request like ‘add sugar to tea’.  She wondered if it was a complicated game he was playing, or if he simply knew that being a pain in the neck might result in his eviction, but couldn’t quite give up all of his pride, and so acted like a martyr. 

So Pepper added a spoonful of sugar to his tea. “Is that better?” she asked him the next morning.

“Yes. Thank you.”

It must be the flat, sophisticated tone of voice that made him look simultaneously defeated and morally superior, Pepper decided. She looked around his room for the umpteenth time, and noticed how empty it was. 

“It must be incredibly boring up here.”

Loki looked up. “Yes, it is.” He went back to eating. 

“You’re doing all right, though?”

Loki set down the fork and straightened, looking her in the eye. “Imagine if Stark were locked up with nothing to do. If I had funds, I would be willing to wager highly that he would not last beyond two days.”

“No, ‘cause he’d jumble the locks and get out,” said Pepper, with pride in her voice.

“Yes, I suppose he would,” said Loki, holding very still. “No matter what lay in wait for him. Like he would fly through a portal with one of your bombs. But eventually the cat runs out of lives.”

Pepper peered at him. Was that a threat? “Are you out of lives?”

“I am merely trying to avoid wasting one,” said Loki, and he resumed eating. “Unlike Stark, I have the patience to do nothing outside of my body, but everything in my mind.”

“What do you do in your mind?”

He gave her a pale smile. Pepper shivered and dropped the subject.  “Do you want me to bring you some books?”

“Books,” Loki repeated.

“Yeah. You know, reading materials. You open them and read. I couldn’t give you anything with history or current events in it, but there’s lots of fiction and books that deal with abstract ideas.”

Loki gave her a long look, until Pepper felt chills going up her spine. “That would be welcome,” he said at last, leaning back in his chair. He sipped at the steaming tea while gazing out the window. 

“Okay. I’ll get you some then.” 

After she went home that night, Pepper went through her small supply of books. She found, with twinges of nostalgia, things she had not opened since her college years. Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, Hunger Games. The diary of Anne Frank. Pride and Prejudice. She selected what she thought should be harmless enough—Hunger Games, for example, might give Loki some nasty ideas—and put them in a cardboard box to take with her tomorrow. She added Pride and Prejudice as a sneaky little prank of her own. If Loki enjoyed it and sweet tea she would not be able to hide her hysterics.

Pepper got up early enough to swing through a second-hand book store and pick up cheap volumes of Plato, Aristotle, and Shakespeare. Heavier stuff. Maybe she could teach Loki through books that humans were creative and great thinkers. And about good and evil. Who knew: perhaps he could have a change of heart through books. 

She couldn’t imagine anything more unlikely. Pepper smiled to herself as she lugged the cardboard box into the tower and up to Loki’s room.

“I got you some reading materials,” she announced plopping the box down on the bed. “Let me know what you like, and I can get you more. Okay?”

Loki didn’t even look at the box. He just gazed at her with such a quizzical look on his face that Pepper wondered if he’d suddenly lost the ability to understand English. She gave him a bright smile and made a hasty retreat back downstairs.

“Pepper!” Tony burst into her office that afternoon as she sat eating a sandwich, Bruce following close behind, and Thor behind them both looking very confused. “I saw the strangest sight in Loki’s room today. I went in to make readings on the magic restrainers and see that he hadn’t tampered with them—and he had books _._ Imagine, Pepper, books! I asked him where he’d gotten a hold of them, and he told me  you had given them to him.”

“Yes, I gave them to him,” Pepper said. 

The blunt reply left Tony momentarily speechless. 

Thor piped up. “Why?” He didn’t sound angry or perplexed, merely puzzled.

“Because he was bored.” Pepper sipped her iced tea.

“Well, thanks, that explains everything—” Tony got his voice back. 

Thor didn’t seem to notice. “Yes, I know, and I have thought of that, but…why do you care?” Thor went a little red. “I beg your pardon, I—”

“Bruce saw the books when he took him his lunch and he didn’t take them away,” Pepper pointed out. Bruce nodded.

Tony didn’t give up. “But I repeat the question I’ve been asking ever since we agreed to this: why are we catering to the guy that tried to kill us all?”

“I’m not running a prison, Tony.” Pepper began to feel irritated again—but mostly because she couldn’t think of a good reason she’d given Loki the books.

“The more time he spends reading, the less time he spends contemplating possibilities of escape and trouble,” Bruce pointed out, and then he turned and left the room, as if the matter was settled. Tony turned his back on Pepper and looked out the wall of window.

Thor shuffled his feet a little, then gave Pepper a grateful little smile. “Is…he enjoying them?”

Pepper smiled. “Some of them. He seems to like Lord of the Rings so far—at least, he hasn’t openly complained about it yet.” 

Thor smiled, getting a warm, distant look in his eyes. He bowed slightly and also left, shutting the door behind him. Pepper spun in her chair and got up and walked over to Tony, standing behind him as he looked out over the city. 

“Tony.” 

A long pause. 

“Sometimes, Pepper, I wonder if you remember that he almost killed me.”

“All the time.”

“Ah. All the time.”

“Tony,” Pepper touched his back, between his shoulder blades. “When I saw the footage of you falling, I thought I was going to die.” She closed her eyes. “I hadn’t been scared up until then. But you fell, and I knew I was going to die.”

He turned his head to look at her. Pepper leaned forward and kissed him. “I want to help Thor, Tony, and the rest of us. But to do that, I have to help Loki—stay calm, at least. That’s all I’m doing.”

“Well,” the corner of his mouth twitched up a little. “If anyone’s capable of that, it’s you.” Then he turned to face her fully. Her arms went up, and his head went down. 

ɤ

_“But I want to!” Loki knew he was whining, but he didn’t care._

_“Loki, your brother is two years your senior, and you know it. You will begin in a few years.” Tutor held out his arms, physically blocking Loki from following at his brother’s heels._

_“But—”_

_“I have heard enough!” Tutor cut his hand through the air, cutting off Loki’s protests, and then stalked away. Loki scowled, his shoulders hunched, and he wandered outside to where Thor stood with the other, older children in the ring. Loki sat down on a bench in the armory, where he could look out the door and watch from a distance._

_Thor waved his sword and charged at an older, dark-haired boy with narrow eyes who sidestepped and looked to the instructor. The instructor took Thor by his neck collar and shook him, scolding. Thor hung his head and the younglings got into a line. The instructor walked out of Loki’s line of sight, but from the rapturous, eager look on Thor’s face, Loki knew he must be demonstrating something impressive. Loki sighed and swung his legs._

_Perhaps if I were larger and stronger, he thought,  they would let me train._

_When the session ended, Loki stood in the far doorway of the armory while the children and the instructor came to put their tools away, half in shadow while he peeked in at Thor talking and laughing. He started to step inside, but two of the older children, the dark-haired boy included, looked up and saw him. Loki turned and ran. Behind him, he thought he heard a voice saying, “Thor, I think your little brother just—” but he didn’t wait to hear the rest._

_He ran until he got to a large, flowery hedge near the front of the palace gates. He got down on his hands and knees and crawled into it, digging blindly until he reached the clear space in the center, where he sat down cross-legged and shook petals out of his hair. Nobody could see him in here, but if he moved a few leaves he could peek out at the people going in and out. Right now there wasn’t anybody interesting, just some guards and a few ladies strolling, so Loki trailed his finger along the smooth twigs of the bush, watching it change to green to yellow to purple, until he remembered that perhaps he shouldn’t do that either. He took his finger away and the wood returned to its natural soft brown color. Loki drew up his legs and rested his chin on his knees, trailing his fingers through the dust, and feeling very left out. At one point, he thought maybe heard a faint, cheerful voice calling his name, but he didn’t investigate._

_Later that evening, Loki went inside, where Amma swooped down and hauled him upstairs for a bath before supper. As Thor was now old enough for training, and too old for sharing, Loki bathed by himself in his room and stood in front of his mirror dressing when Thor burst through the doors._

_“There you are, Brother!” he cried, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”_

_“Oh.” Loki pulled out his rumpled sleeves. “How was your training?”_

_“Spectacular!” Thor hopped onto Loki’s bed and started jumping up and down, his wet hair spraying water droplets while he bounced. “I am going to be a marvelous warrior, I know it. Master Orvar says I need to listen more and charge less, but that my swing is excellent. It is very boisterous, and we will soon be practicing fights—I watched a few, but Master Orvar says I can’t join in yet. I don’t see why; I practice so much anyway. But I still got a bruise, see?” Thor lifted up his shirt to display the purple marking on his middle section before letting it down again._

_Loki clambered up onto the bed and started jumping too, without actually letting his feet leave the surface of the covers. “Who was the tall dark-haired boy?”_

_“The older one? You probably mean Hogun. He’s Master Orvar’s son, and he’s been around real weapons his entire life. He’s too dull and doesn’t do anything without being told, but he’s very good at fighting, and nobody today could beat him.”_

_Amma burst into the room, causing Loki and Thor to instantly scramble to the floor. “You rapscallions! Stop immediately. Young princes do not jump around on furniture breaking things.”_

_“We didn’t break anything,” Thor protested._

_“And I wasn’t jumping, I was bouncing,” Loki put in. “Besides, we are young princes and we are jumping and bouncing on furniture, so—”_

_Amma smacked both of their heads. “No excuses, young man,” she said to Loki, and then to them both, “Downstairs you go, it is time for supper.”_

_Loki nibbled quietly on his food while Thor, face shining and excited, chattered long about every detail of the day, with, Loki was sure, adventurous embellishments. Over the next few weeks, Loki sulked about the palace whenever Thor was in his sessions. He spent a lot of time in his secret places, daring to play with magic more than he had since those few years ago when he had hidden from Frigga. He had figured out since then what magic was, and what it wasn’t; magic was strange changes, things that confused other peoples’ minds. Things that didn’t normally happen. Magic was mysterious, delightful, and secret._

_Loki knew, in his head, that Thor got to train because he was older. But it didn’t change his feelings of jealousy. He noticed Frigga looking at him a lot, a few times asking strange questions about pastimes. He was snappish and sullen, and made Frigga look worried. It made him feel guilty, but only partly._

_One night, after dark, Loki slipped out of bed. He crept along the hallways, turning invisible when he came across guards and servants. He made his way to the lower levels, where Odin and Frigga often spent time alone. Guards stood watch at the entrance to their private chambers. Loki turned invisible and crawled underneath their table that held their drinks and through their legs. Then he stood up, feeling guilty about being so sneaky, and walked through the interconnected rooms until he heard his parents’ voices. He tiptoed to the doorway that led to the room in which they spoke to each other and sat down in its shadow, leaning his head against the wall._

_“—so lonely,” Frigga was saying._

_“He is a child, being denied what he wants,” said Odin. “He avoids people on purpose when he sulks.”_

_“I know that,” Frigga said. “But it is harder on him to wait than was for Thor; Thor did not have to see his best friends entering it before him.”_

_“Perhaps it is. But even Thor is entering early, and we know that he is athletically gifted. If it weren’t for Thor, Loki would sit inside all day reading, or take walks, instead of running around rambunctiously. He is not ready for training. It is for his own safety, and the productivity of the other training young ones, that he stays out.”_

_That was the reason then. Because he was not as strong as Thor. The pain of this betrayal ran deep, and Loki couldn’t stand it. “I won’t, Father,” he burst out, looking out through the doorway, and causing both of his parents to jump. “I’ll work harder than anyone; I won’t slow anyone down.”_

_“Loki!” Frigga scolded, rising from the couch where she sat beside Odin. “You should be in bed!”_

_“Yes, Loki, you would, and you would,” Odin said. “How did you get through here without being seen?”_

_Loki didn’t answer, but the silence answered for him._

_“Loki,” Frigga scolded, beckoning with one hand. “I told you to not use magic like that.”_

_Loki stayed where he was, growing red in the face, hot and angry, and hurt that his parents thought so little of his abilities. He could train well. He knew it. “You told me to not hide from Amma. I am not hiding from Amma.”_

_Frigga looked confused for a moment, and then her expression cleared and she put a hand over her eyes. “Loki, that was two years ago.”_

_“Frigga, sit down.” Odin pulled Frigga back down beside him. “Come here, Loki.”_

_Loki edged out of the shadows into the doorway, but he remained sitting on the ground and did not come into the room. “I could do it, Father,” he said. “I would practice so that I would become better than any of them. I would not slow anybody down. I would become a warrior. I would please you, Father, and make you proud.”_

_“It would please me,” Odin said, “To have an obedient son. Come here.” He pointed to the ground at his feet. His voice did not rise, but Loki heard him becoming angry. He got to his feet and shuffled forward until he stood in front of his parents with his hands behind his back, his cheeks still hot. He tried not to hang his head._

_His father was angry with him._

_“You may not enter training, Loki,” Odin said, firmly._

_Loki parted his lips, and his half-hearted “But…” died in a shaky sigh._

_“Not yet,” Odin added in the following silence. “Your mother and I have discussed it, and we have a proposal for you. A bargain to make with you.” Loki glanced at his father’s face, then back at the ground. “If you wish it, we can get an instructor for you. An instructor in magic.” Loki blinked. Perhaps…not so angry, after all. “But you must stop trying to deceive people and talk your way in and out of everything, instead of standing and listening to those wiser than yourself.”_

_Loki pressed his lips together. “I don’t lie,” he said. Well, not very much._

_“That is not what I said,” Odin said. “I said deceiving people. Like just now, when you mentioned your mother telling you to not hide from Amma. You know what she meant, and twisting words does not change their intended meaning; only their legality.”_

_Loki wasn’t sure he understood what his father meant. He half-shrugged a shoulder._

_“That is not an answer,” Odin said. “Do you wish to receive instruction in magic?”_

_“Yes,” Loki said, still looking at the ground. “But I would rather train with Thor.”_

_“Loki,” his mother said, and Loki cringed, his face growing hot again._

_“You will have it, then,” Odin said, ignoring Loki’s renewed request for weapons training. “Providing that you cease intentionally deceiving people, especially with magic.”_

_Loki scuffed his foot against the floor. “Thor lies too.”_

_“Thor has nothing to do with this,” Odin said. “Do you wish to receive instruction, or not?”_

_Loki hunched his shoulders. “Yes.”_

_The tension in the air relaxed. “Good,” Odin said. “We will hire a teacher immediately.” A pause, and then Loki jerked a little as his father’s large, warm hand wrapped around his own. His mother’s wrapped around his other, and he looked up into their faces for the first time. “Your magic is a great gift, Loki,” Odin said. “Use it well. Do not run after something that is not yours.”_

_“ You are a great gift, Loki,” Frigga said, and Loki’s cheeks flushed again. Then, with a hint of amusement, “When you are not being a slippery little handful.” She pulled him and Odin into a three-way hug, where Loki had equally strong desires to wriggle out and run away, and stay in those embraces forever. Before he could chose which option looked more inviting, they let him go. Frigga walked him back up to his room. He climbed into bed, and Frigga leaned down and kissed his forehead._

_“Good night, Loki.”_

ɤ

Natasha stood in the training room, staring down the shaft of a practice arrow knocked on a stolen bow. She sighted the target, and then released. _Whack._ Almost dead center. Of course she couldn’t compare with Clint, who could shoot a flying target while hopping on one leg and twirling a hula-hoop.

Yes, that had happened.

Clint threatened terrible things if she ever told.

She whipped out another arrow, got down on one knee, and sighted it at a corner of the ceiling. The arrow, being a dummy, split apart as it hit the smooth metal sheets. She couldn’t decide if she liked practicing archery better with Clint around or not. She got better instruction, obviously, but it was prideful, annoying instructions, that usually ended in some sort of standoff with various weaponry and once with two bottles of mustard. 

At the moment, though, Clint was not here, which was why she had his second-hand bow at all. A small assignment came through, a hostage-school-building situation, and even though Natasha was restless and longing for some action, it wouldn’t really do for all of the Avengers to show up. And she knew Clint needed the outlet more than she did. She hadn’t been able to really talk to him since Loki got here—what, three weeks ago now? He was anxious and always stalking around, saying nothing, a brooding frown replacing the simple watchfulness. He hadn’t been the same since being brainwashed, or mind-molded, or whatever it was, anyway. He didn’t have to say it for Natasha to know what he was thinking.

_Could he really be that weak?_

So Stark had gone, and had dragged Banner along with him, claiming to need help disabling possible bombs (even though there had been no bombs or possibilities of such in the report), and Natasha suspected they would both just hang around while the Captain and Clint took care of the problem, and then disappear to a big tech fair that was going on in New Jersey. Thor stayed behind because he didn’t like to hop states and leave Loki. Natasha stayed behind because there had to be one level-headed mostly-neutral person around to take care of things. 

Natasha slid the practice arrows back into their compartment. A slight, slippery noise scuffled behind her and Natasha spun around, hand on her pistol. Something shifted in the shadows behind the stack of punching bags, two yards away. Then a green-speckled lizard-head the size of a football peeked out from behind the stack. Natasha stared at it. The animal lifted its nostrils, waved its head back and forth, and then caught sight of her. Natasha curled her fingers around the pistol, staring back.

Something stung her cheek before Natasha realized its mouth had opened. She whipped out her pistol and shot at the long stringy substance extending from the animal before she realized the spot it hit her hurt. Really hurt _._ The animal reeled back, letting out long, shrill, bird-like, ear-shattering, twitters. The string-thing snapped in half, still dangling from her face. Natasha yanked it out. It was wet, and bumpy, and its tip tore at her fingers.

A…tongue? With a rough, knife-like edge?

Before she could comprehend what this could possibly mean, something stung the back of her hand. She whipped around, but this lizard was faster, it jumped back, squawked, and the air filled with a moldy smell, like bleu cheese. She choked on it, even as she held out the pistol and fired. The lizard dropped, dead, and then suddenly there were more of them—pouring out from behind equipment, running past her feet, a few jumping at her with clawed feet. 

She shot her attackers and spat out, “JARVIS, INTERCOM! The tower is being invaded! Thor, can you hear me?” She dispatched another lizard while doing a mental headcount. The tower was mostly empty of Avengers. She didn’t think the cleaning ladies came today. Pepper, thank goodness, was taking the day off. That left Thor and—

Oh no, Jane Foster was here too.

Evidentially in response to her message, a loud bellow came from the depths of the tower, and scarcely thirty seconds later Thor flew through the doorway dressed in jeans and a t-shirt.

The lizards, running in crazy circles, came to a brief stop. 

“Whence came you, little dragons?” he said to them with raised eyebrows as he spun his hammer. Then several jumped at once, shooting out long tongues and stabbing at Thor in the face. His eyes widened and he cried out, cringing backward, swinging his hammer a little wildly, but punching most of the animals off. Natasha stared at him in astonishment as lines of red began to pulse down his face. The bites stung, but not like that. Not enough to make Thor cry out in battle.

The next moment a powerful odor of roses exploded in the room, and the lizards mobilized—all rushing for Thor. He shouted, all amusement gone from his face, his eyes burning as they only did in a serious battle. 

Natasha jumped forward to help him, shooting, stabbing and kicking the animals away. They mostly ignored her, and Thor let out a loud holler whenever one jabbed at him. Working back-to-back, they managed to keep them off.

But they just kept coming. Natasha could not believe how they came flocking in droves from…where?

No matter how many they killed, whenever she turned there were more. 

“Hold on!” she shouted to Thor, and ran over to the stack of punching bags. Even as she looked, more came pouring out from behind it, but when she reached it, there were none. She turned to battle the onslaught, and more poured out from between her legs, but, when turning back, again there were none. She gave up and ran back.

“Thor!” She shouted over the din of chirrups as they both continued to dispatch the creatures. “Get to Jane and cover for her! She has to close whatever thing these creatures are using to get in!” They fought their way out of the training room and slammed the door shut. For an instant, they had a space with no creatures in sight—even with an army chirping and squawking behind the door.

Thor looked at her with wide eyes in a pain-drawn face. “Loki.”

Natasha cursed. She had completely forgotten about him. “I’ll check on him. Help Jane close the portal!”

Then the clicks of a thousand clawed feet echoed down the hallway. Thor nodded, then rose into the air and shot off towards the laboratory. Natasha reloaded her pistols while she ran to the stairs. She didn’t care to get stuck in an elevator with magically materializing lizards. As it was, she ran into groups of them and had to stop and fight them off. Over ten minutes passed before she finally reached Loki’s floor. She had run into no lizards for two flights of stairs now, and she hoped that Jane had been successful. She reached Loki’s door, paused to undo all of the ridiculous locks, and then pushed the door open.

Her vision filled with a huge slab of wood. Natasha ducked and the small table crashed into the wall behind her.

“Loki!” she shouted, and then stopped, because the smell of roses was suffocating. Thick clouds of perfumed mist hung in the air and Natasha coughed. 

“Miss Romanov,” Loki’s silky voice answered. She yanked out both of her pistols, panicked and wondered with a twist in her gut if this was his plan. Loki faced her in a crouched, defensive position. “How kind of you to stop by.” There was blood on his face. A lot of blood. Dripping blood. Blood sheeting his exposed skin. Matted in his hair, covering his neck. Bleeding nicks, torn skin. His hands as well. Covered with a rapidly thickening, glistening layer. Loki sounded perfectly calm, but as he straightened, she saw the wild look in his eyes as his gaze darted around the room. The bodies of the lizards littered the floor and every surface, in some places several feet thick. 

“Jane got the portal closed,” Natasha managed, and then she choked on the air again.

Loki’s gaze riveted on her as he stood rigid for a moment, and then behind her. Then he fell forward, running from the room, torso bent in a determined, crazed run.

“Loki!” She dashed after him. Loki didn’t slow. He stumbled down the stairs, leaving smears of red on the banisters, running faster than she could ever hope to. He tripped and fell, rolling, once, and that helped her catch up, but then he was off again. Not running away, she realized. Running towards the labs. Thor and Jane.

ɤ

The doors slid open and a hoarse voice screamed. “THOR!”

Thor gasped, stunned into one place, unable to take in at first what was hurtling at him. “Loki?” He ran forward to meet him. His brother’s eyes, white in the red face, were terrified. Loki was terrified. Thor felt a surge of anger towards those creatures—whatever they were—had done to his brother. He would protect him, ensure that they never came back, could never reach him—

Loki crashed headlong into him. Thor grunted in surprise. His brother’s crimson hands gripped Thor’s arms like a vice, his terrified—no, angry—both?—face shoved near his.

“ _You left me!_ ” Loki screamed at him. “You forgot me and you _left me_ in there!”

“Brother!” Thor gasped, “I could not—Natasha—”

“Do not call me ‘brother’!” Loki shouted. His skin was torn ragged and blood oozed from a thousand places. “I had no defenses—no!” One bloodied hand left his arm and brushed at a stinging place in Thor’s face. Loki’s mouth contorted in rage. “You _knew!_ ” He screamed, his fingers clamping around Thor’s neck—not strangling, not yet. “They got to you too! You _knew!_ But you are no sorcerer, brother—you knew and yet you _left me!_ ”

Loki jerked back as if touching Thor burned him. Thor grasped at him, grabbing his forearms and holding him close while his brother writhed. “Loki!”

“Did you think at all?” Loki would not let him speak, jerking back. “Do you have _any idea_ what they did to _me_ , a _magic-user?_ I had no defenses, Thor! Nothing! No weapons! No magic! I could not even run away! I had _nothing!_ ” 

No magic?

“Loki!” Thor raised his voice, trying to speak reason to his hysterical brother, but with a growing horror as he realized what had happened. Loki continued struggling. “The attack came quickly—nobody knew you were here—I thought you were safe—I had to go with Jane to close the portals so they would stop the attack—and Miss Romanov went to see how you fared!”

Loki stood quivering for a moment, stock still, then his entire body dropped, both of his legs shot up, and with the speed of an adder and the force of a charging bilgesnipe he struck Thor in the chest with his feet. Thor gasped, startled, and let him go. Loki landed half on his feet, half on his hands, and scuttled backwards, leaving smears and drips of red on the floor. Natasha quietly entered the room and stood by the door with her arms crossed.

Loki stood and looked around him, looking dazed, breathing hard, blood dripping from his fingers.

“Brother,” Thor began. Loki glanced at him, eyes narrowed. Thor changed his mind and looked over at Jane, who still stood behind the desk, her fingers frozen in place over a keypad. “Jane, would you please bring me a bowl of water and a cloth?” She nodded, dumbly, and scurried away to the nearest kitchenette. Thor wiped at his cheek, his own few cuts throbbing and burning and still bleeding, and he wondered why Jane’s were already scabbed. He took a few steps toward Loki. Loki shot him a glare and took a few steps away. “Brother, please let me help you,” he pleaded. “You are badly hurt.”

“You cannot do anything that would heal me,” Loki snapped.

“No, Brother, I cannot. That does not mean I cannot help you.” Thor stepped forward again and took hold of Loki’s elbow. “Please, sit down with me.” Not waiting for an answer, he pulled his reluctant, stiff sibling to one of the leather couches. Thor sat at one end, and tugged on Loki’s elbow.

“Stark will not be pleased if we get blood on his furniture,” Loki said, looking down at him.

“Tony, for once, will have shut up and take it,” Thor said. Loki’s eyebrows went up and he almost smiled. Natasha did smile, cautiously, as she stood guard at the door. Loki allowed Thor to pull him down onto the couch beside him. Jane re-entered, carrying a large bowl of water and two clothes over her arm. Thor pulled a glass-top table close to the couch and Jane set the bowl down, and then went back to her computers. Natasha followed her, leaning in and murmuring something in her ear. 

Thor took one of the clothes and dipped it into the water—icy cold, he noticed, and longed to put it against his own stinging tears. He didn’t though, and instead turned to Loki. 

“Hold still,” he said, and put the cloth against his brother’s temple. Loki jerked a little, a small gasp escaping him. “Sorry,” Thor muttered.

“No,” Loki said. He didn’t continue, and Thor began the work of clearing his brother’s face of blood. It was hard, because every single one of the cuts still bled; each one at least half-an-inch long, most longer, criss-crossing each other, giving Loki’s skin the ragged appearance that reminded Thor of the edges of old books. The blood was in layers: the light, slippery stuff on top, thicker in the middle, dried on bottom. Whenever he cleared a space, more trickled down. Why would it not stop bleeding? While he worked, sweating with the effort to be gentle, Loki sat obediently still, slouched over a little, his hands—also ragged—hanging off his knees. He sat with his eyes closed most of the time, every once in a while he would open them and glance about the room, and then they would slide shut again.

Eventually, Thor’s own cuts stopped bleeding, but Loki’s simply would not. They slowed, but they would not stop. Thor moved to Loki’s hair, where he struggled to get the matted blood out of it. The bowl of water turned bright red, strings of clots floating through it. Without being asked, Jane came in with a new bowl and took the other away. 

A sound of voices, footsteps, opening doors. 

“Hi Tasha, so what’s the—” Stop. “What the hell is he doing out here.”

Underneath Thor’s fingers, Loki tensed. Thor looked up. “Tony,” he growled.

“Stark,” Natasha folded her arms. “For pity’s sake, use some perception. Loki is injured, is not restrained, we’re not running around screaming. He did nothing wrong.”

“Granted, but,” Tony pointed a finger. “What the hell is he doing out here.”

Thor found himself gripping the bloodstained cloth in his fist. “What are you doing back, Tony Stark?” he growled. 

“I called him and Banner,” Natasha said, and right on cue Bruce walked in behind him.

“What’s going on?” he asked, gaze snapping to Loki.

“We were attacked by some sort of large reptiles,” Natasha said. “They didn’t hurt Jane and I, but they seem to have done something to Thor and Loki.”

“They seemed to feed off of magic,” Thor said, standing. “I have some, which is why they converged on me instead of Miss Romanov and Jane. Loki—” he glanced back at his brother. Loki hadn’t moved even his head, but his wary gaze rested on Tony, and he blinked rapidly to keep the seeping blood out of his eyes. Thor looked back at Tony. “Loki is steeped in magic, unlike me, and they – found him.”

“He looks all right to me – just chewed up a bit,” Tony quipped. Bruce quietly stepped out of the room. Thor glanced at his brother again. Loki’s lip curled and his eyes blazed. 

“Perhaps you would like to face them with magic stored in every drop of your blood?” he said in a low, dangerous voice.

“Yeah,” Tony said, “I’d be in my suit.” Loki’s breath hissed through his teeth. 

“Well, Loki was not,” Thor thundered. “He was defenseless!”

“Sure,” Tony said. “But the danger’s gone for now, right?”

“We don’t know about that,” said Jane. “I’m not even sure why they stopped coming. You could stand being a little more polite; Loki isn’t doing anything wrong.” Thor smiled at her. She had never forgiven Loki for killing him, she was very clear about that, but at least she would stand up for him now.

“May I remind you, Tony Stark,” Loki said, anger still threaded in his voice, “We are in a room with a rather large window.”

Tony pointed at him. “There! See, he’s threatening me. We should put him back in his room.”

Loki stood. Natasha was instantly out from behind the desk.

“Loki.” Thor put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, but Loki didn’t look at him. He glared at Tony with his eyes flashing.

“I will not be forced back into that prison!” he snarled.

“Oh, you won’t?” Tony scoffed.

“Tony,” Natasha warned.

“Brother,” Thor warned.

Bruce walked back into the room carrying a medical bag. He walked right past Tony, ignoring the agitated tenseness that filled the room, and plopped the bag down onto the table.

“So,” he said, very, very calmly. “What exactly did the things do to you guys?”

Several seconds passed where nobody moved. Then Tony turned away, running a hand through his hair. Loki visibly relaxed, but he didn’t sit back down.

“They were extracting magic,” Thor explained, keeping his hand on Loki’s shoulder. “They tried Jane and Natasha and then left them alone. I made them a little excited, but—”

“There are about two hundred dead ones up in Loki’s room,” Natasha interrupted. “My guess is he made them very, very excited.”

“Understatement,” Loki said, and then sat down quickly as if his legs had just given out.

“Interesting,” Bruce said. “What were they?”

“I know not.” Thor said. “Loki?” Loki shook his head. “We have never seen or heard of such creatures. They are unknown to the Nine Realms. Why do you suppose Loki’s injuries not stop bleeding?” He stepped to the other side of Loki to get out of Bruce’s way. 

“Blood-drinking organisms usually have chemicals in their saliva to prevent clotting,” Bruce said. “Vampire bats have one called draculin. It’s probably something like that.”

“Draculin?” Jane wrinkled her nose. She looked so endearing when she did that. “As in, Dracula?” Bruce nodded.

“Dracula? What is Dracula?” Thor queried. 

“It’s a story. Not important,” Bruce said. “Loki’s cuts look deeper than yours, and more of that chemical is in him than you. That’s why they won’t stop bleeding.”

“But were they actually drinking his blood? I thought they were after magic,” Jane said. Bruce looked at Loki for the answer. 

He shook his head. “Not drinking it. Letting it flow. Extracting the magic in it.” 

Bruce looked at Jane and shrugged. “There you go.”

“Can you help him?” Thor asked.

“I can sew them shut. That’ll help,” Bruce said. Loki’s face instantly became guarded.

“Brother?” Thor put his hand on his shoulder again.

“I am not partial to sewing, especially near my face,” Loki said, deadpan. Tony, on the other side of the room, let out a strange snort. Thor glared at him. Loki didn’t appear to hear.

“Understandable,” Bruce said, “Do you mind?”

“Yes, but it seems to be what is necessary.”

“Okay. If you want me to stop, just say so. This’ll take a while,” Bruce took out a tube of something. “This is antiseptic. It stings, but cleans wounds.”

“Thor,” Loki said suddenly. “You need not hover over me like a mother hen.” He rolled his shoulder and Thor lifted his hand, stepping away. Bruce put on a plastic glove and squeezed white paste onto his finger and gently dabbed it at a large cut on Loki’s forehead. Loki’s face, iron-like, didn’t even twitch. 

“Tony, make yourself useful and help me figure out these readings,” Jane hollered as Tony stood observing Loki at a distance. “Thor, come help us with this.” Thor obediently turned and trudged over, and soon Jane and Tony were having a heated argument over the data. Thor told them what he knew about magic and portals and allowed Tony to take a sample of his blood. Eventually Bruce finished with Loki and he came over and joined them. Loki remained sitting on the couch in the same position.

Natasha nudged Bruce and pulled him over to an older computer, where the panes were not see-through. A moment later, Bruce let out a quiet curse. He looked up, saw Thor looking at him, and gestured. Thor went to him.

“Security footage from earlier,” Bruce said, rewinding the silent video and starting it again, playing it at double speed. Loki sat on the bed reading something. He looked up from the page, frowning, and then looked back down. He looked up again a moment later, got up, and stood turning in slow circles in the room. Then the first of the things appeared. He saw it, stared at it in surprise and then jerked backwards as it attacked him. He snapped its neck with his hands, and then there were more. Loki grabbed the bedside table and struck them with it. Then more poured in and it became confused and difficult to follow. They sruck and sucked at him from every side. Loki flailed, twisted, got most of them off, and then went still. More converged on him, but he didn’t budge. Then he convulsed, doubled over, and let out a scream that was silent to the camera. He threw himself back and bursts of magic exploded in the room, killing the creatures. But more kept coming. Loki stumbled to the door, struggled with it, fought of the lizards, let out another burst of magic with another scream—

“Bruce,” Natasha said. Bruce breathed heavily.

“I’m okay,” he managed, stopping the video and taking a deep breath. Thor let his head hang, feeling sick.

“What’s your take, Thor?” Natasha asked.

“His magic was hurting him,” Thor whispered. “It has never done that before.” He gazed across the room to where Loki still sat in the same place. “Please do not let my brother know you have seen this.” He left the group and went over to his brother. “How do you fare, Loki?”

Loki glanced at him. The blood was considerably less, though the cuts were still red, and the few unaffected areas were stained.  A white cloth was wrapped around his forehead. “Better,” he said. Thor nodded, stood awkwardly, and then went back to his friends.

The sky slowly grew darker and the scientists continued to try to organize readings. Loki got up a few times and wandered around the room, always returning to his place on the couch. Thor tried to speak to him, but Loki gave short answers and he soon gave up. 

The hours slid by. Tony ordered pizza. Thor slid a few pieces on a plate and took them over to Loki, who had been sitting with his hands limp between his knees and his head bowed for a long time.

“Are you hungry, Brother?” he asked. Loki didn’t answer. “Brother? Are you asleep?” Thor set the plate down and knelt on the ground, looking up into Loki’s face. Loki’s eyes were open and he stared blankly at the floor. His face glistened with sweat. “Loki?” Thor touched his hands, and his eyes widened. “Bruce!” he shouted. “Come quickly! Loki, can you hear me?” He shook his brother gently, worry shooting through him. “Loki!”

Bruce ran over, Tony, Jane, and Natasha all following close behind with bewildered expressions. “What’s wrong?”

“He is ill,” Thor said. Bruce got down on the floor next to him.

“Loki?” he said softly, and put two fingers against his neck like he’d done the first night. He jerked them back with a curse. “He’s burning up. Humans die before they get this hot. Loki.” Bruce snapped his fingers in front of Loki’s open eyes and slapped his cheek. Loki blinked, looked up. Thor tightened his hands on Loki’s.

“Brother?”

Loki looked around, caught sight of the Avengers, and jumped to his feet. He staggered back a little, balance off. “I will not go back to that chamber,” he said, his voice too loud and cracking at the end, his eyes dazed and wild.

Bruce stood, holding out one hand. “Nobody’s going to make you go back, Loki. What’s wrong?”

Loki looked at him for a long moment, looking confused. “The blood of a sorcerer does not mix well with that of a mortal.”

“What?”

Loki let out a pained grunt and he doubled over, hand clutching at his forehead.

“Brother!” Thor jumped forward and took his arm. Loki jerked it away, staggering again, and grabbed at the arm of the couch. Jane stared at him with her mouth open.

“Do you remember what happened, Loki?” Bruce asked. 

“I--” Loki breathed hard, his knuckles turning white against the leather. “I do not use extended pretense for the sake of a limerick.” He stopped for an instant, frowning, “Magic does not go with—with—” He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head hard, hand going to his forehead again. “Danger,” he said at last, “Danger makes it strong, but it hurts.”

Thor’s heart pounded until it sent nausea through his limbs. Loki, his brother, was the Silvertongue. His words were supposed to make sense. He was not supposed to look this confused.

“Loki,” Bruce said, then stopped. He turned and gestured at the other Avengers. When they didn’t move, he gave them a glare. Natasha plucked at their sleeves and they turned away. Bruce looked back at Loki, whose eyes were wide. Bruce cleared his throat and made eye contact with Thor. “Sleep is often the best remedy,” he said, and then followed the others away.

Thor took the hint. He put his arm around Loki’s shoulders. “You should rest, Brother. You are not well.”

“Not here,” Loki hissed through gritted teeth. “I will never rest _here_ —vampires and hatred—”

“You must rest,” Thor insisted. “I will watch over you while you sleep, Loki.”

“You will not,” Loki shouted, making Thor jump. He lurched up, swayed. “You will not, and neither will anyone else, I cannot sleep—I have not for…for…” he let out a pained cry, and doubled over again, then jerked back as Thor touched him. “You imbecile, you have no remedy or foresight.” Loki let out a gasp. Thor caught him in a tight embrace as his knees buckled. Loki gripped onto him, gasping through a ragged throat, as he hung from Thor’s arms. The heat of his fevered body spread into Thor’s, and his hot breath buffeted Thor’s ear as he hissed, “I hate you.”

“I know,” Thor said, refusing to take anything Loki said in his delirium as truth. “You must sleep now.” He set Loki down on the couch again. Loki’s hands jerked out to steady himself against the back. Thor put his hand on his shoulder and pushed him down onto his back. Loki blinked rapidly. 

“You will not stay,” he said, quietly now, as sweat beaded and rolled down his face.

“I will,” Thor bent over him and put his hand on his burning forehead. “Sleep now.”

Loki’s eyes fluttered and then closed. Thor looked up. Bruce leaned against the desk, watching them. He raised his eyebrows slightly. Thor gave a small shrug and looked back down. Loki watched him through narrowed eyes. Thor straightened and held out his hand, summoning Mjolnir from where it sat next to the window. It flew into his hand and Loki flinched. Thor smiled at him and went to stand at the end of the couch behind Loki’s head with his arms crossed. Several minutes passed. Loki’s breathing slowed, and became uneven and shallow. Thor glanced over his shoulder at him. His head was turned to the side, damp hair sticking to his face, eyes tightly closed. He looked uneasy, but asleep.

When Thor turned back, Bruce stood at his elbow, also looking down at Loki. “How hot do you Asgardians get when you have a fever?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“We do not have the same measurements as Midgard,” Thor said, forehead creasing. “Warriors sometimes have such a temperature though, if something has prevented them from seeing a healer immediately.”       

“I could give him something that would bring it down,” Bruce licked his lips, “But I don’t know if it’d be effective, and since I don’t know why his body’s doing this, I don’t like to, so long as he’s not in danger. Just sleeping is probably the best thing for him at the moment.” He looked down at Loki, his mouth curled in frustration.

“Dr. Banner,” Thor glanced at the others, who were not being quiet. “I think perhaps Loki and I had better spend the night in this room. I don’t wish to move and risk upsetting him further.”

“Yeah,” Bruce agreed, then smiled a little. “I’ll get rid of them.” He walked over to the others and began to argue with Tony. Thor looked down at his brother again, disturbed by the restless way Loki slept, his breathing coming in bursts, body twitching and shifting. Thor rubbed his hand across his aching forehead. A long time passed before it looked like the other Avengers were wrapping it up.

Tony came over to him, hands in his pockets. “FYI, that pulls out into a bed. In case you want to change it later.”

“Thank you, Tony. I’ll try if he wakes up.” Thor was surprised at this offering of information, and touched that Tony would give it for Loki’s benefit.

 Jane left the room, and then came back, arms laden with a thick blanket, boxes of crackers, a bag of gummy bears, a few apples, an empty glass, and a pitcher of water. She arranged the things on the table and draped the blanket over Loki’s legs. “Since you won’t want to leave Loki, don’t plan on sleeping, and are always hungry,” she announced, standing back and surveying the layout with her hands on her hips. Thor chuckled, blinking hard to banish the sudden tired ache that washed over him. Jane smiled and put her hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t wear yourself out, okay, Hero?” She stood on her tiptoes and gave him a kiss. Thor raised his hand to touch her cheek, but Jane drew back, looking startled. “Thor,” she said in the tone of voice that indicated he was in trouble. “Are you sick, too?”

Thor raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Nay,” he said, and then wondered if that was true.

“Bruce,” Jane called, softly so as to not wake Loki. “Come tell me if Thor has a fever.”

Bruce, with papers under his arm, obediently came up and touched Thor’s forehead. “Yep,” he said. “Must be a side-effect of having your magic drained. Not nearly as bad as Loki’s, obviously, but a fever.” 

Jane glowered at him.

“I did not know!” Thor protested. 

“It isn’t a good idea for you to stay up all night then, Thor,” Bruce said. “I can take shifts with you.”

Thor shook his head. “No. I promised Loki I would watch over him, and I will.”

“Thor,” Jane chided. 

“Loki has little trust in me already,” Thor said, shifting his grip on Mjolnir. “I will keep my promise to him.”

Bruce rubbed his eyes. “Okay, but if you start feeling worse, or if Loki starts looking worse, call me. I’ll sleep in the conference room next door.”

“Thank you,” Thor said to him, and meant it. Jane sighed and gave him a light whack in the chest with her fist.

“Stubborn,” she said. Thor grabbed her hand and kissed it. 

“Good night.”

“’Night. Please find someone to help you before you keel over,” she said, and left with Bruce, leaving Thor alone with Loki to fight with himself over how safe his brother really was.

ɤ

Late that night (early that morning?) the scientists still fought and deliberated.

“There’s got to be a key here,” Bruce tugged at his glasses, shoving aside a stack of dirty coffee mugs to study the now-beverage-stained papers beneath them.

“Problem is,” Jane scrunched her hair into a messy ponytail, and the sleeves of her oversized t-shirt slid down to her elbows. “I have no idea what stopped them.”

“Come on, you’re a scientist. Don’t tell me you were twisting random dials,” Tony grumbled. Jane glared at him.

“I was trying to close who-knows-what by doing who-knows-what while being attacked by mini-dragons, thank you very much.”

Bruce, as usual, remained calm. “Go over what you did again, and maybe we can match some of these numbers up.”

“That’s the problem. I can’t,” Jane sighed, scrolling through the data. “I might be missing something, but…”

“Of course you’re missing something,” Tony interrupted.

Bruce waved at him to be quiet. “But what?”

Jane decided to ignore the grumpy Stark and instead focused on Bruce. “But,” she repeated. “The timing wasn’t right. I don’t think I stopped them. I think they stopped coming on their own.” Bruce pulled his glasses off. 

“So, Thor and Tasha were intimidating?” Tony asked.

“Either that,” Bruce’s eyes wandered in the direction of Thor and the indisposed Loki. “Or they accomplished whatever it was they came for.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cue ominous music*  
> You didn't really think Loki was going to be able to relax, did you?  
> Next week: We get to delve into Loki's unconcious subconcious, and Tony learns the truth about a very...err...popular story in Norse mythology.
> 
> ~caramell


	6. Conceal

_Loki struggled with the strips of cloth. He needed to keep them flat, tight, tucked in and unnoticeable. He trembled through the bursts of pain that came with each breath as his shaking hands struggled to wrap properly. A soft knock sounded on his door. Loki paused, and then rasped through his tight throat, “Who is it?”_

_“It’s your mother, Loki,” Frigga’s voice came from the other side._

_Loki’s fingers curled around the white cloth, half of it already wrapped around his ribs. “I wish to be alone.”_

_“I know.”_

_Loki glanced at the medical supplies scattered about his bed; his shirt and trousers rumpled on the floor. His voice sank. “Please, Mother, leave me be.”_

_“Loki.”_

_Loki unraveled the white cloth and dropped it beside him, gritting his teeth and dismissing the locking spell. Frigga came in and closed the doors behind her. When she turned around her face softened._

_“Oh, Loki.”_

_“Is this what you came to see?” Loki demanded as her gaze swept over him, over the bruises and the dried blood. Loki raised his hand and reinstated the locking spell, before Thor or the servants took the opportunity to blunder in. “It was Sif,” he muttered, when Frigga didn’t move or speak._

_“I see.” Frigga moved across the room to the hearth._

_Loki picked up a bottle and began to coat his cuts with salve. “What are you doing?”_

_“You are wearing nothing but your undergarments. You must be freezing,” Frigga said as she built the fire. It leapt higher and she came to stand beside him. Loki didn’t look at her, one leg hung over the edge of the bed, his sore one bent in front of him._

_“You should see Eir,” Frigga said._

_“No!” Loki exclaimed, too harshly. “That would just be—I am fine. I do not need Eir.”_

_“Yes, you do,” Frigga said._

_“No.”_

_“Why not?”_

_The warmth of the fire began to fill the room. “That would just be admitting Sif’s victory against me,” Loki muttered. He picked up the cloth and again began the struggle of wrapping it around himself._

_“You and Sif are not in a war.”_

_“She despises me.”_

_Frigga moved some of his instruments aside and sat down in front of him. “She feels that way now because of her hair. Hair is very important to a woman—even if she calls herself a warrior maiden.” Frigga put an amused spin on her last few words. Loki did not find it funny._

_“She told me so herself before I changed her hair,” he said through gritted teeth, wrapping the cloth around once more. “She told me in very vivid language—” He yanked the cloth and let out a pained cry, hunching over._

_Frigga’s hand descended onto his. “Loki, stop.”_

_Loki remained hunched. “What?”_

_Frigga sighed. “Why did you change her hair?”_

_Loki breathed shallowly and quick, trembling jerking through him. “The people despise me too,” he said, avoiding the question. “But Sif—she and Thor, they would make a very fine royal pair.”_

_“Loki, that is a terrible thing to say,” Frigga scolded._

_“I have heard them!” Loki snapped. “More than once. That is what they think of me. Sif, too. She told me to my face. Not only do I not measure up to Thor, but even Sif comes and—” He stopped, unwilling to voice any more of his despair._

_Evidentially, he didn’t need to. Frigga’s hand slid down to his knee. “I see.” She was silent for a moment. “Why black?”_

_Loki grew uncomfortable. “Why not?” he muttered, jerking at the cloth again, with a small noise in his throat._

_Frigga touched his hand again, and waited until he opened his fist and she took the cloth. “Lie down.”_

_“Why?”_

_Frigga smiled, and gently pushed his shoulder. “You are not the only one in this family with a gift of magic. Lie down.”_

_“Mother—”_

_“Loki.”_

_Loki obeyed. Frigga moved her position on the bed until she sat cross-legged alongside him, despite her long skirts. Loki stared past her, at the ceiling, uncomfortable. Frigga’s fingers, cool but not cold, traced across his swollen leg. Warmth emanated from them, gradually pushing at the edges of his pain._

_“You need to stop comparing yourself to Thor,” she said._

_“Because I cannot compare?”_

_“Because you are not Thor,” Frigga moved up his leg to his torso. “And anybody who is bothered by that is foolish.”_

_“Right, so why expect anything of value from me?”_

_“Be quiet. I expect much out of you,” Frigga said in a gentle rebuke. “And so long as it is good you do, if it is not what someone wants from you, they will just have to adjust. There will always be people in the Realms who do not compute with you, and there is nothing wrong with that. Some may be foolish, and you may want to be friends with them—or, with certain people, perhaps more than friends.” Frigga paused, in both her healing and her talk. Loki didn’t answer, and still wouldn’t look at her, fighting the heat that wanted to rise up his neck. “But even if you can never be friends with them, you must still be kind and polite, even if they do not give the same to you.”_

_Loki turned his face away. “Shouldn’t you be telling Thor this?”_

_Frigga laughed lightly, her hands brushing over his shoulders. “Yes, and I do. But you need to know it as well. You are a prince of Asgard, and Thor’s brother. He will need you.” Loki wasn’t sure what to make of this. “In the meantime, you need to apologize to Sif.”_

_“And she?”_

_“I cannot control what Sif does, and neither can you. But you can control what you do.”_

_“What if I am not sorry?” Loki didn’t mean to let the words slip out, but he did._

_Frigga took his chin and turned his face towards her. He thought he was about to get scolded again, but Frigga only ran her fingers over his face. He closed his eyes rather than look at her, shame and hatred for he didn’t know who burning inside of him. He flinched in surprise as Frigga kissed his forehead._

_“That is up to you,” she said, and lifted her hands away. “Sit up.”_

_Loki obeyed. The pain was not gone, but it was dulled, and he let her finish wrapping his ribs for him. They sat in silence for a few moments, and he realized Frigga was waiting._

_“I can’t. I’m sorry.”_

_“So am I,” Frigga said, and that hurt more than Sif’s beating._

ɤ

Hours passed, and Loki grew worse. Thor had no way of telling the time, and he found himself very grateful for the food and drink Jane had had the foresight to leave him; it helped to distract him from thinking about sleep, when he wasn’t so worried to entirely lose his appetite. 

Loki’s temperature rose and his sleep grew more fitful. Thor used water from the pitcher to bathe his face, which still bled slightly, wondering how bad it needed to get before he broke his promise to Loki and called on Heimdal.

Then, suddenly, in the middle of the night, Loki’s rough breathing stopped. Thor spun around, fearing the worst.

Loki’s eyes were open, and he stared at the ceiling with a perplexed expression. Thor stepped closer. Loki’s gaze moved to him, and the anxiety faded from his face, though the confusion remained.

His lips parted and in a whisper of a voice he breathed, “Brother?”

Thor stopped short, unable to believe his ears. “Loki?”

“Thor,” Loki glanced around him, and then looked back. “What has happened?”

Thor looked closely at him. Sweat still glistened on Loki’s skin, and his eyes still had the glassy brightness of fever. But he seemed so…clear. His expression was so open. Loki stared at him, the worry returning. 

“What is going on?” Loki bent his elbows and struggled to sit up. Thor snapped back to his senses and moved forward. 

“No, no, lie down, Loki. You are not well.” He pushed gently against Loki’s shoulder, and his brother collapsed back. 

“What’s wrong?” Loki’s breathing quickened, and his hand gripped Thor’s sleeve. “Where am I?”

“Be calm, Brother.” Thor soothed. “You are—in the residence of a friend. You were attacked by an animal and have taken with fever. But everything is fine.”

Loki relaxed a little, his breathing slowing again. “And you? Are you all right? Did it attack you?”

“Nay,” Thor lied, smiling through his bewilderment and patting his shoulder. What was Loki playing at? “I am fine. You dispatched the animal yourself.”

“I…see.” Loki looked around him again, frowning. “Where am I?”

He had just asked that. Thor felt a little spark of fear. “Among friends,” he repeated. 

“Oh.” Loki looked past Thor’s shoulder, raised one hand in the air and held it there, moving his fingers as if trying to touch something. Thor looked over his shoulder. There was nothing there. “What…” Loki took a breath as if to say more, held it, looking perplexed again, and then let it out. For a brief instant, a blue butterfly fluttered at Loki’s fingers, then vanished. Loki let out a small gasp and his hand fell back on the couch. “What was that?” he breathed.

Thor got down on his knees next to the couch. “Loki…you conjured it yourself.” Loki blinked, still staring into space, and then he turned his head to look at Thor and frowned again.

“Conjured what?”

“The butterfly.”

“Butterfly?” Loki looked a little amused. Thor’s stomach churned. Loki winced and he let out a small cry. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with his hand. “I…” he breathed.

“What is it?” Thor asked him, realization dawning, and wondering if he should fetch Dr. Banner.

Loki opened his eyes and looked at Thor through his fingers. “You will laugh at me.”

“Nay,” Thor said. “What is it?”

“I feel—” Loki squinted. “I feel as though…I have forgotten something important. I can’t remember something I ought to, Brother—something significant.”

Thor’s heart twinged at the name, wondering again if he should go get Bruce. Loki was ill. Very ill. His mind, somehow, had gone to the past. “What could you possibly be forgetting?” Thor managed to sound cheerful. Loki smiled a little, then it faded and he looked around again. His fingers moved to Thor’s hand.

“Where is Mother?”

Thor took Loki’s hand in his own. “With Father.”

“Oh.” Loki considered this. “Am I in danger?”

“No. If you were, Mother would be here. She and Father sat by your side for many hours when you were unconscious, and we were all very worried for your safety. Just two hours ago your bedside was surrounded by Eir and her aids, but you are fine now, and then Father and Mother had to attend to matters of state.” Thor realized he was rambling, and he stopped himself. He didn’t know what compelled him to lie. He didn’t know what kept him from fetching Dr. Banner.

No, he did. 

Loki’s expression was so, so clear. Loki was here. The real Loki. He was here. His little brother was _here_. He didn’t want Dr. Banner to bring the other Loki back.

“I think—” Loki raised his other hand and looked at it, then let it flop back down. “I think you had better get Eir. I—my magic—I feel strange, I think—”

“That is a side effect.” Thor squeezed his hand. “It will pass soon enough.”

“Where am I?”

“Among friends.” Thor’s throat tightened. He would not weep. He would not weep.

Loki closed his eyes, and then opened them again. He smiled a little, gazing at Thor, then lifted his free hand and touched his face. His fingers burned. He frowned. “Are you well, Thor? You are cold.”

“Quite well,” said Thor. “It is only a little drafty.”

“Then,” Loki smiled again, with the clean, mischievous grin that Thor had not seen for years; a smile with truly no malice behind it. “How would you like to play at being boys again, Thor? I must admit; I myself am cold.”

How as that possible? He was burning. Thor cocked his head. Play at being boys again? “What do you mean?”

“Do you remember how we would share a bed?”

Thor smiled. “Well, your current bed is quite narrow, Loki. I would not fit.”

Loki looked down the couch with mild surprise. “Oh.”

Thor remembered Tony’s words. “However, this couch pulls out into a bed. If you will stand up for a moment, I can expand it.”          

“It does what?” Loki’s eyebrows went up.

“I’ll show you.” Thor stood up. Loki’s grip tightened on his hand and he slowly pulled himself up to a sitting position. Then he let go and with a startling burst of energy swung his legs over the side of the couch and stood.

Then he gasped and his eyes rolled back into his head. Thor jumped up and caught him under the arms.

“Oh, dear,” Loki gasped out, breathing quickly, his eyes sliding shut as he gripped Thor’s shoulders. “Oh, dear.” 

Thor set him down on the ground. “Are you all right?”

“Evidentially, I cannot stand yet,” Loki said, shivering. Thor pulled the blanket from the couch and draped it around Loki’s shoulders. Then, after experimentally running his hands along the cracks in the couch, he found the handle and tugged. The couch unfolded before his eyes and stretched into a rather large bed, with a mattress and sheet already on it.

Loki’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “Where did this contraption come from? I have never seen such a thing. And what an odd shape it is.” The bed, like all other Midgardian beds, was a wide rectangle.

“I believe it was imported from Nidavellir,” Thor lied.

Loki seemed to accept that and he pulled himself up onto it, dragging the blanket behind him, and lay his head down for several seconds. “There, that is better,” he said at last, and rolled to one side. Thor lay down next to him and pulled the thick blanket over them both. Loki lay on his back staring up at the ceiling for a long moment. 

“Where am I?”

“Among friends.”

Loki rolled onto his side, cushioning his head with his hand and smiling. “We did this a lot when we were small, did we not?”

“Yes,” said Thor, then added scornfully, “You and your bed of cloud.”

Loki laughed—a clear, joyful laugh. It stabbed Thor. “You and your bed of stone,” he returned, jabbing Thor in the ribs. They fell silent again. Loki’s blinked slowly.

“Loki,” It occurred to Thor that, in this state, Loki might give honest answers to any questions he asked. “What is your fondest memory from our childhood?”

“Fondest,” Loki repeated. He appeared to think for a long time, then he grabbed Thor’s left hand and pulled it towards him, studying the back. “Has it ever returned?’

“Has what?”

“The scar.”

“No,” Thor raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You healed it.”

“I know.” Loki absent-mindedly pushed it back.

“Is that your fondest memory?”

Loki blinked. “Is what?”

“Our hunt for the creature from Muspelheim.”

Loki smiled. “Did Father ever catch it?”

Was he avoiding the question, Thor wondered, or was his mind simply skipping around? “Yes, he did. They took it back to its realm.”

“You wanted to kill it,” Loki said, matter-of-factly.

Thor smiled. “Yes, I did.”

“You oaf.” Loki said. He smiled. “Our last great expedition.”

Thor stared at him. “What?” Loki looked at him in surprise. “What do you mean, Loki? We have gone on many expeditions together since then. That was long ago.”

“Oh…yes.” Loki agreed with a nod. A faint smile hovered around his lips. Surely he had not meant that. Surely, in Loki’s mind, that wasn’t the last genuine thing they’d done as brothers. Thor tried another question.

“What is your least fondest memory from our childhood?”

“Hm,” Loki said, and that was it for a long time. Then his brow furrowed and he looked worried. “Is Sif angry with me?”

“Sif?” Thor could not fathom what he was thinking now. Loki’s eyes widened and he looked fearful.

“Are _you_ angry with me?”

Thor had the strange feeling that he was wandering around in Loki’s mind, eavesdropping, and finding the tangled pieces of a mixed-up past. “Over what, Loki?”

“I cut her hair,” Loki said, shrinking away from Thor. “I changed it to black.”

“That was a long time ago, Loki,” Thor said. “Sif is no longer angry with you.”

Loki looked suspicious, and still fearful. “Are you angry with me?” he repeated. “When I changed Sif’s hair?” He didn’t seem to realize that his tenses were mixed up.

“I was, at first.” Thor winced. He had yelled a great deal at Loki, his mother had rebuked him, and Sif had been near to tears. Eventually Thor stormed out, and his mother had gone after him, and it wasn’t until later that they’d realized Sif had not followed them. They’d gone back to find Loki sitting alone, very straight, and silent. A short while later, Thor realized that Loki had taken a severe beating from Sif, but, still being angry, he knew it to be exactly what he deserved, and so said nothing. “But, that was long ago, Loki. It was a childish prank, and childish anger.”

Loki relaxed, suddenly looking very tired. “I am sorry.”

Thor took both of his hands. “You are my brother, Loki. There is nothing you have to be sorry about.”

“Where am I?”

“Among friends.”

Loki closed his eyes and shivered. Thor felt he had to say something. There was something he had wanted to say for a long time, but to Loki…the foreign, cold, distant, stabbing Loki…he could never get it out. He tried, but he always stumbled over himself, and nothing every came out right, and it went on until Thor gave up or Loki took over the conversation with a silencing retort. But looking at Loki now, who had an almost childlike innocence, even with the scarred lips, torn face, and new anxiety lines, he felt that he could try again. Perhaps, even if Loki remembered nothing of this, something would stick.

“Loki,” he said, and waited until Loki opened his eyes again. Then Thor spilled out what had been building in him ever since Loki had let go, in awkward strings of fumbling words. “No matter what happens, you are my brother and I love you. I want you to know that. Whether I do an injustice to you, or you to me, that will never change. Even if…everything we know now turns out to be false, I still love you and I always will. Please remember that.” He stopped, feeling foolish. 

Loki gazed at him for a long time, as if considering what Thor had said. Then the blank expression came back, and he looked confused again. “I am sorry,” Loki repeated, face twisting, and he shivered again. Thor could not keep back the tears that filled his eyes. It was too late. Useless. Loki didn’t, couldn’t understand. Thor didn’t know what else to say. There was nothing else he could say. Not now. _Stupid._ He could never say anything right. So he moved closer and kissed Loki’s forehead. 

“Hush.”

ɤ

_Loki stood in the center of the wide expanse, feet deep in lush soft carpet. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled to bursting with thick manuscripts that lent the room a dusty, dreamy, learned, silent smell. A long couch sat in the center, also red, plush and smooth. In front of the couch sat a huge cabinet, with closed wooden doors. Loki put his hands behind his back, then in front of him, then tucked under his arms as he turned in a circle. The bare walls glared at him, and the silence pressed down on him so hard that he had to work to breath quietly so as not to disturb the air. Outside, he heard the muffled voices of two gardeners, working their way towards home as the light faded._

_“Hello, Prince Loki.”_

_Loki whirled, taking a few steps backwards. A tall, clean-shaven elderly man with graying light brown hair stood before him. The man gave a small bow. His features were sharp; eyes, ears, and chin all pointed. “I am Alvis, and I am to be your instructor.”_

_Loki quickly returned the bow, taking in the man’s features. “You—are you Ljosalfar, sir?”_

_“I hail from Alfheim, yes.” Alvis nodded. He gestured to the couch, and Loki obediently walked to it with him and sat down. “Now,” Alvis said. “The Allfather has told me of your abilities. Each sorcerer has an aspect of magic that they conquer more easily than the others. You have the natural gift of illusions. I have the natural gift of nature. Others have the natural gift of living organisms.”_

_“Like Eir?” Loki piped up._

_Alvis nodded. “Like Eir. In time, one can become competent in all aspects of magic, but only a few can reach mastery, because magic is not what most people think it is. ‘Magic’ as the people call it is common magic. Magic, in its pure form is just that. Magic. You have more raw, natural talent than anyone I have yet met, if what your father says is accurate, but that does not make it any easier for you to master magic.” Loki screwed up his face, confused. Alvis lifted one hand in the air, and a blue butterfly danced at his fingertips. “What is this, Prince Loki?”_

_Loki blinked. “A…butterfly?”_

_Alvis smiled a little. “No. What is it I am doing? What is the butterfly?”_

_Loki bit the inside of his lip and tried again. “Magic?”_

_“Wrong. That is what most people would say. But what you see here is an illusion.” Alvis snapped his fingertips through the butterfly and it vanished. “An illusion that came from me. Not from magic. Magic did not create the butterfly; I did. Magic only gave me the ability. Do you understand?”_

_He didn’t. Loki nodded, slowly. Alvis gave that small smile again. “If these sessions are to be of any use to you, you must be sure to be entirely honest with me. Consider the question again. Do you understand?”_

_Loki hunched his shoulders. “No.”_

_Alvis stood up. “Come with me.” Loki followed him outside. The sun had sunk and night had descended. The sky glimmered red and blue from nebulas. “There are three aspects that make up what is commonly known as magic. First, there is the end result; the act itself, what people see. The butterfly. Vanishings. Healing. Storms. Second, there are the sorcerers. The instigators that turns magic into results. Magic is a substance, not a trick. Magic is a unique thing in itself. It is not like water, air, or sunlight. These are all physical things. Magic is something else entirely.” Alvis knelt down on his heels so that he could look Loki in the face. “If an enemy wishes to take magic away from a sorcerer, to defeat him, to render him incapable of performing common magic, what does he do? He can fight the results of magic if he wishes; he can fight the illusions and the substances created, but that does not stop the attack; that is only defense, not offense. And he cannot take away the magic itself. Magic, Prince Loki, is always there. Magic does not leave. So what does he attack?” Loki didn’t have an answer, and he felt a little uncomfortable with Alvis staring into his eyes like this. Alvis lifted a finger and put it against Loki’s chest. “ You,” he said. “He attacks the sorcerer. He cannot destroy magic, and he can only fight the results. But in order to take away the results, he has to break the link. You are the link, Prince Loki, between magic and illusions. Only a few are born who have the physical ability to become masters. Only a few can interact with magic itself. That is why not everyone can ‘learn’ magic. Many people can ‘learn’ some tricks. But magic is not something to be learnt. Magic is something to be known. To be integrated into yourself until there is no separation.”_

_He paused, and the silence made Loki’s ears ring. He didn’t understand. “But…” he managed, and Alvis looked ready to listen. “But Master Alvis, what is magic? How can I know something that isn’t…isn’t a person?”_

_“You can’t,” Alvis said. “Not yet. Even I have not grown enough to fully know magic. Magic is something that cannot be described. But,” Alvis stood up and took Loki’s hand. “Close your eyes.”_

_Loki obeyed, and the next instant he felt as though every nerve in his body was on fire. It didn’t hurt, but it surged, and he lost all control. He couldn’t feel a thing but the raw—something, pressing in on all sides, rendering him incapable of thinking. He felt himself give a mighty quaver, and his eyes shot open. He was on the ground, with Alvis kneeling over him._

_“I didn’t expect that,” Alvis said, matter-of-factly, worry in his eyes. “Are you all right?”_

_Loki couldn’t breathe. His whole body quivered like he was being jabbed with a thousand electric shocks, and he felt as though something were racing through his skin and behind his eyes. Shaking, he tried to push himself up. Alvis helped him, and Loki held up a hand in front of his eyes. The fingers jerked and trembled beyond his control, and he felt, rather than saw, something leaping from them high into the air. Then he took a deep breath and the feeling left him._

_“Are you all right?” Alvis repeated._

_Loki stretched his limbs and stood up. He felt entirely normal, though a little numb in comparison to what he’d just been through—whatever it was. “I think I’m fine,” he said. “What was that?”_

_“Well—” Alvis looked doubtful. “I’m not entirely sure. Magic, clearly, but I have never had someone react quite like that before.” He put a hand on Loki’s shoulder and shook his head. He looked over the balcony for a moment, silent, and thinking. Then he gave Loki a sharp look, a look that you might give a snake after realizing that what you originally thought common is of the rarest species of serpents…or of the most poisonous._

I’ve done something wrong again, _Loki thought._

_“You have potential,” Alvis said finally. “Come back inside.” They went back to the couch. Loki voiced a question._

_“How is one born a sorcerer?”_

_“That is something that no one knows,” Alvis said. “It is not something passed down from generation to generation, or even race to race. For although there are some circles where certain types of magic are more common, the options are limitless. Do you understand now, how you can interact with magic as a substance?”_

_“I think I am beginning to,” Loki said._

_“Good. That is all I ask. There are many born with some ability to play with magic, but fewer who can truly interact with it, and even fewer who can master it. Your father and mother are in the middle. Many people can learn how to do tricks with magic, Prince Loki. And it will be much easier for you to learn how to do those tricks than most others in the universe. I said this earlier, but it bears repeating: you have no special talent when it comes to mastering magic. You can become very good at tricks; you can become brilliant at tricks. But mastery takes time and effort. Once reached, however, it cannot be un-known, nor easily taken from you. It becomes a part of you.”_

ɤ

Loki awoke with a mental jerk, and an unexplained rush of adrenaline. He didn’t move. He made sure of that. But Thor still noticed, his voice coming above him and to the side.

“Loki?”

 _Damn._ Loki took a deep breath and turned his face to the side, shifting his body slightly, and then settling back down. This trick had worked before, and it seemed to do so now. He felt a huge, gaping hole in his memory. The last thing he remembered was beginning to feel dizzy. He thought back and had a faint memory of being furious, yelling at Thor. He probably had made a fool of himself. He had the nagging feeling that he was forgetting something else. It was like the feeling he used to get upon wakening, and the last bits of a dream slipped away. That was back when he still dreamed. 

Could he have...?

Highly unlikely. Loki cracked open his eyes and saw that he lay on…an extended version of the couch from last night. Loki mentally frowned. Fresh light spilled over onto the fuzzy white sheets. It must still be early morning. Loki opened his eyes all the way and looked up into Thor’s face as he leaned over.

“I see you kept your promise,” Loki said, as he began to recall what had transpired last night, and saw from the sleepiness in Thor’s eyes that he had not slept.

“How are you, Loki?” Thor asked, looking simultaneously anxious, hopeful, and a little…afraid?

Loki glanced to the side and saw a half-empty pitcher of water and an empty glass. “Thirsty.”

Thor instantly went to the table and poured a glass, then held out his hand. Loki ignored it and carefully pushed himself up into a sitting position. He closed his eyes for a moment as the room swayed, then took the glass and drank. His head ached and he felt the weakness in his limbs that always follows an illness. He lowered the glass when it was empty and let it rest in his lap while he caught his breath.

“Thor, when did this change into a bed? I remember going to sleep while it was normal.”

“You do not remember?” Thor looked nervous. Loki narrowed his eyes.

“No.”

“Well…Tony informed me that it could change into a bed, so I changed it when you awoke last night.”

Ah. So there was a piece missing from his memory. “I see.” Loki studied Thor’s face. “What are you hiding from me?”

Thor picked up Mjolnir and absently fumbled with it. “Hiding?”

“Yes. Hiding. Was it something I said that I now cannot remember?”

Thor cleared his throat. “Nay, it was just—you frightened me, when you awoke, because you did not know where you were, no matter how many times I told you. You seemed out of your mind.”

“Indeed? I do not get accused of that frequently at all,” Loki said sarcastically. He leaned over and poured himself some more water. “Have the others returned yet?”

“I believe so, but I have not yet seen them.” Thor said. 

“I sense a delicious row coming up.”

Thor moaned. “Lo-kiii!”

Loki raised his eyebrows. It had been a long time since Thor had said his name in that exasperated-but-not-hurt tone of voice. It annoyed him. “What, do you think they will consent to my having no restraints?” Loki looked distastefully at the water. What he really wanted right now was some of that tea Pepper Potts always brought him. 

“I wish you would not always assume that everyone will not be courteous towards you, Loki.”

“It is never a mere assumption,” said Loki, putting the glass down only half-empty.

“Would you like some breakfast?” Thor changed the subject. 

Loki leaned back. “No.”

“But—”

“I am not well, and I am not hungry,” Loki stated. “So leave me be.” He put his hands behind his head as he rested against the back of the couch and closed his eyes once more. He did not go back to sleep, though. Once awakened, now alert, he could not sleep again until he was ensured his safety. Last night it had been easy; a fevered haze distorted one’s logic. 

Time passed and Thor moved about the room, returning to Loki’s side every few minutes. Loki’s damaged skin burned and itched. His muscles tightened as, at last, the doors slid open and a careful, authoritative step entered. Steve Rogers, Loki knew, before he spoke.

“How is he?” Quietly.

“Recovering, I think.”

“I want to talk to him when he wakes up, if he’ll listen.”

Loki, without moving or opening his eyes, said in a very loud voice, “I am awake now, Rogers,” their startle was audible, “So if you wish to speak to me, I can hardly avoid hearing it.”

“Ah,” Steve cleared his throat. “Uh, Thor, would you mind stepping out for a moment?”

“Why?” Thor demanded. Steve didn’t answer, but he must have done something, because Thor muttered, “Very well—but only for a moment. I will be right outside, Loki.”

Loki decided to ignore Thor’s paternal tone that was beginning to get very irritating now. Steve came around the end of the couch as the doors slid shut, and Loki opened his eyes and rested his hands in his lap, his legs stretched out across the mattress. Steve sat down at the adjoining couch and leaned across the arm, still dressed in his uniform, sans shield, resting his chin on his fist.

“So,” he said, gaze flitting over Loki’s form. “I hear you had a rough time yesterday.” Steve waited, but Loki didn’t acknowledge the statement, and so he went on. “I want to say I’m sorry about that. It was careless of me, and I should have given the situation more thought and planning then I did. You came here for refuge, and I agreed to give it to you. It was never my intention to break that agreement.” Loki noted how he voluntarily took the blame for the incident. He would have preferred if he used a word other than ‘refuge’. Steve rubbed his chin and broke eye contact, studying the floor. “I’m not sure what the arrangements will be now, but they won’t be as sketchy.” He glanced back up and Loki continued to gaze steadily at him without changing expression. “I’m thinking we’ll put you back up on the same floor, but you’ll have some more range. Of course you’ll be held to the same behavioral standard, but we haven’t had any trouble so far, so I don’t expect any.” He was lying there, but it was a nice thought. Steve waited again, raking a hand back through his hair, and then prompted, “What do you think?”

“That would be tolerable,” Loki said, relaxing against the couch.

“Okay.” Steve started to hold out his hand. Loki made no move to take it, so he gave a firm nod instead as he rose. “Have you had breakfast?”

“No, and I do not intend to.”

Steve raised his eyebrows as he turned away and let out a little whoosh of air, his cheeks puffing up. “I’d check with Dr. Banner on that first.”

Loki made a dismissive noise in his throat. “I studied under the best healer in Asgard. I should think that I know my own body.” He didn’t, though. Sure, magic faltered when the user’s health failed, but Loki had been in bad shape before—and never this pain. Why did he have so much _pain_?

Steve shrugged. “On your own head,” he said. “Literally, I guess. You can stay in here today if you want, but be back upstairs tomorrow morning. See you around.”

He and Thor switched positions. Loki’s irritation grew. He crossed his arms and leaned his head back, looking up at the ceiling.

“You should get some sleep,” he said.

“Oh, I have gone much longer without rest,” Thor replied—Loki heard his smile—and then he gave an untimely yawn.

“Do you expect me to forget you were attacked as well?” 

“Mere scratches compared to you.” Thor appeared at the top part of his vision, looking down at him. He smiled. “Really, you need not trouble yourself about me, bro—”

“I wish to be alone, Thor!” Loki snapped, lips curled, the words tearing from him before he had time to think. 

“Oh, well…” Thor left Loki’s line of vision. 

_No, no, catch him, catch him._ “What if the others receive a call and need your help? You won’t be much good to them half-well.”

“Well, Loki—”

“Do you honestly think that they are not watching us this very minute? Their efforts will be re-doubled if you retire. I shall be quite spied upon without you—do not flatter yourself.” _No, damn it. Why the jab? Catching, not stabbing._

Thor heaved a great sigh that meant Loki was winning—thank the Norns. Loki regained control of himself and refrained from saying anything else, settling into sullen silence.

“Very well, Loki…if that is what you wish.” Thor fumbled with something behind Loki, sighed some more, and then, finally left.

Loki took a deep breath and pressed both palms to his eyes. What was the matter with him? Why had he lost his temper like that? He could not remember the last time he’d spoken without thinking. Loki let his hands drop as he finally allowed himself to consider what had transpired yesterday.

Thor did not know what the creatures were, and Loki didn’t either. A thousand years really ought to be enough time to be aware of the existence of such creatures—Loki, especially. He studied the dangers that came with being a sorcerer. That left the uncomfortable conclusion that they were from beyond the Nine Realms. Creatures from beyond did not merely traverse here on a whim; if they did, it would be common knowledge of the vastness of the universe. 

Loki leaned against the arm of the couch and rested his forehead against his fingertips. There was no way to know for sure, he reminded himself. No way to possibly know at all. There was no reason to think that they came here with a purpose.

There was no reason to think the Other had sent them.

Loki swallowed. Anxiously restless, he scooted to the edge of the bed and stood up. He lost his vision for a moment, and all sense of up and down. He stood still until it returned to him. Holding the arm of the couch-bed, Loki took a step that made his head swam. 

_I will not be weak._

He couldn’t afford to. Loki breathed deeply and turned, taking more steps until he stood at the back of the couch. _There, that’s better,_ he thought through dizziness. _Now, without support_. He lifted his hand from the leather and looked to the wall of windows, taking long slow breaths. He had no doubt that someone at this moment was watching him. To fall would be humiliating. So he would not fall. Loki went at a brisk walk to the windows. The floor seemed to tilt, and Loki closed his eyes, reminding himself that his feet were still flat on the floor. He stretched out a hand and touched the glass of the windows, opening his eyes again. He stared out at the buildings, at the tiny humans walking the streets. He wondered what the outcry would be if someone recognized him. He smiled and turned away.

It felt as though snakes swam and writhed in his stomach. Loki swallowed again, longing for tea. He could just leave the room and go up to his designated floor, but at the same time, it amused him to have complete possession of this room which was not intended to be a living quarters at all, much less his. It helped him not feel helpless.

Loki closed his eyes again, wishing for his magic. He didn’t bother looking for it, though. He knew better now—it would only be frustrating and tiring and would yield no results. But he longed for it; how it washed through him, cool, almost chilling, easing any discomfort, filling him with buoyant power; an intense intimacy he hadn’t known before his fall in Asgard. Loki’s lip curled, the scabs on his skin cracking, and banished the thought. Was he reduced to daydreaming now? Disgusting. Loki Silvertongue did not need daydreams.

He actually liked the sound of that. Loki Silvertongue. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? He had no father. Why not take on the name others had given him; show his pride in it; throw it in their faces. Loki Liesmith was excellent as well. In fact, why not drop his old name altogether? Silvertongue Liesmith. 

He didn’t think it would catch, though. “Loki” was now the name of lies and mischief itself, so there wasn’t much reason to bother trying to change that. But he didn’t like Laufeyson, and Odinson repulsed him. Both were false. Loki No-oneson was true, but pathetic. Yes. Loki Silvertongue and Loki Liesmith. Much better. Problem solved.

He fought another wave of roiling snakes. The tea, like healing magic, soothed. He could not have magic, but he would at least have tea. Besides, he was bound to have to confront somebody the moment he left this room. That alone would make the trip worth it.

Loki circled the room twice, not losing any of his dizziness, but getting used to it. Then, as he began to pass the doors for the third time, he turned and left. He couldn’t remember quite how he had found Thor after fleeing the prison-room, so he didn’t know exactly where he was, but he knew the building well enough to guess.

He headed to his floor, but in a roundabout fashion, walking quickly, and panicking anyone trying to find him as much as possible. He met no-one though, and everything remained silent, even Jarvis. Of course, they could just ask Jarvis his location, and Jarvis would tell them. But he still moved fast enough that it couldn’t be easy. 

He climbed the stairs, three at a time, light and quick. When he reached his floor, though, he had to stop because his vision left him completely, and he stood panting with his back against the wall. It returned, and he made his way to the kitchenette. There, Loki realized he had a problem. He didn’t know how to make tea. He stood in the center of the kitchenette for a moment with his arms folded, tapping his fingers against his upper arm. Then he began opening the cabinets, and had a mental image of Stark having a heart attack over the imminent danger of his plates. He smiled to himself and rifled through the cabinets until he found the type of tankard that Pepper Potts gave him his tea in—she called it a ‘mug’, he thought. While looking for the mug, he also came across a small box. It didn’t look like much, with torn cardboard corners and worn decorative ink, but he saw the words “English Breakfast Tea” emblazoned on the side. Loki’s forehead wrinkled—sending maddening burning sensations through his skin—as he flipped open the top and looked in at the strange packets. He sniffed. Well…it did smell right, but what…?

Footsteps.

“Woah! You’re—up.” 

“Actually, I think you are hallucinating, Stark.” Loki didn’t turn and he set down the box on its side, tilting his head a little and looking down his nose to read the instructions while he pretended to examine his mug.

“Yeah, but no. I don’t do drugs, believe it or not.”

Loki wasn’t sure what he meant by ‘do drugs’. So he pulled out a small pan and filled it with water, setting it on the stove to heat. Then he said, “It is a little early for you to be up, is it not?”

Tony, now in Loki’s line of vision, fidgeted a little, spinning a cellular phone in the palm of his hand. He wasn’t wearing his suit—only a t-shirt and loose trousers. That, if nothing else, told Loki that Tony was truly surprised to see him. Maybe—maybe nobody had been watching him. He supposed Thor could have left without anyone’s knowledge.

“It’s ten in the morning,” Tony said.

“For you, that is early.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony slid the cellular phone into his back pocket. “And how would you know?” In answer, Loki turned towards him and raised an eyebrow. Tony winced. “Right, I keep forgetting you played fly on the wall for a long time.” Loki leaned against the counter and folded his arms. He glanced at one of Tony’s side pockets, and wondered if the lump was his pocketknife.  “Anyway, um…I never really went to bed, so I’m actually up ‘late’…upgrading this floor and…stuff…”

“Ah, yes.” Loki turned his head and watched the water. “It would not do for me to have an escape route, now, would it?”

Tony mimicked his stance across the kitchenette—which was less than a body length away. “Actually, I was upgrading the sensors so they’ll hopefully be able to sense multi-dimensional disturbances. I’m going to do it to a lot of the building in case those creatures come back, but I started here because they converge on you. You have the wrong burner on.” Tony took a few steps and leaned forward, twisting knobs on the stove behind Loki’s shoulder, then going back.

Loki watched him without moving, caught off guard both by the sensor statement and the action. “I see,” he said at last. “But you need not have bothered. I can sense multi-dimensional disturbances.”

“Oh. Well. Granted, but this is for the rest of us.” _Nice save, Stark._ “If you start sensing, for pity’s sake, holler. We’ll send someone up.”

“I do not care to be an alarm system.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Good grief, can’t you just let someone talk without making a snarky comment?”

Loki grinned, and Tony almost flinched. “Hypocrite.”

Tony made a face. “Okay, we’re both pretty adept at snarkiness.”

“’Adept’ would hardly be the word I would use to describe you, amateur.” Loki put a hand to his chin, as if contemplating the proper adjective

Tony raised his eyebrows and tilted his head forward. “ _’_ Amateur _’_? You think I’m an  amateur?”

“When it comes to mischief, and that includes…” Loki paused a moment, glancing to the side. “’snarkiness’, everyone, compared to me, is an amateur.”

“Wanna put that to the test, Rudolf?”

Loki laughed. “You want a contest with the God of Mischief? I would not encourage that.”

“Well I don’t worship you,” Tony said. Loki smiled and shook his head. “What, you scared of losing? Come on, it’ll just be a private joke—see who can most annoy everyone else.”

“Considering that villains who try to take over the world are near the top of the ‘annoying’ list, I think the contest is already won.”

“Yeah, you have a head start. So even if we tie, I win.” Tony smirked. “Better start running.” Loki just continued smiling and said nothing. “You’d better drop that mysterious seductive look if you don’t want people to come up and kiss you.”

Loki didn’t lose his smile, but he frowned a little. “What?”

“Point for me,” Tony said cheerfully.

“You said ‘see who can annoy everyone else’,” Loki pointed out. “That ‘point’ is void.”

Tony grinned. “Does that mean we have a deal?”

Loki smirked. “I only make deals with beings who lend me their armies.”

“Hasn’t worked out for you so far though, has it? Come on,” Tony held out his hand. “Deal?”

Loki held up one hand, palm outward. “I do not make petty ‘deals’ with Midgardians. Pray try to contain your disappointment.” The water began to simmer, and Loki turned to put a packet of tea in the mug. Tony let his hand fall.

“Well, I’m playing, and you want to, but you won’t say so because of your precious dignity. So I’ll make it easy for you. We’ll play without saying so.”

“Play all you like,” Loki said, pouring the water over the dry leaves. “I finished with playing long ago.”

“That’s your problem.”

Loki cast his gaze about the kitchenette until it fell on an earthenware jar of sugar. A spoon lay half-buried in the sugar, and he grasped the tip of the handle and, unsure how much sugar Pepper Potts added, put in one spoonful. He paused for a moment as a wave of nausea hit him. Then he looked about again, pulled open a promising drawer, and took out another spoon to stir it. He sipped it. It tasted about like Pepper Potts’. He hadn’t said so, but he actually wanted it even sweeter. So he added another spoonful, stirred, tasted, and dumped in another.

“That’s a hell of a lot of sugar,” Tony commented.

Loki defiantly stirred in more and then, finally, he tasted perfection. Extremely sweet, smooth and silky, steaming and almost burning, spreading hot strength through him, then relaxing and soothing. He ignored Tony Stark’s presence as he leaned back and enjoyed his accomplishment. If he’d had his magic, he could keep it at this heat as long as he drank it. But he didn’t even try, and instead found a happy medium of slow, steady sips.

Tony didn’t make any move to leave. He peered at Loki with a finger scratching through his beard. “I’ve been reading up on my Norse mythology,” he commented after a few minutes. “’Know your enemy’ and all that stuff.”

Loki gazed at him over the rim of his cup. “I suppose I should be flattered.”

“That depends,” said Tony. “Some of the stories are quite elaborate. I wonder if any are true or not.”

“All myths have a grain of truth,” said Loki.

Tony shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. “That’s poetic and everything, but there are some…there’s one easily recognizable story about you in particular that’s really…err, interesting. Anybody who knows Norse mythology knows about it.” Tony straightened and opened a cabinet, pulling out a bottle of an alcoholic beverage from a top shelf. 

Loki raised an eyebrow. He didn’t want to appear too interested, but he was curious. He hadn’t thought to look up himself while on Midgard. What did they say about him, when their glances had been so brief? “’Interesting’? What horror have the Norse revealed?”

“Weeelllll…” Tony suddenly looked at a loss for words; a bizarre expression on the face of Tony Stark. “It’s the one about the, uh, horse.” He paused, and looked at Loki expectantly. But Loki had no idea what he was getting at.

“Horse,” he repeated.

“Yeah,” Tony scratched behind his ear. “You know, um, Slippery, or something? Eight legs?”

“Sleipnir,” Loki corrected. Tony’s eyes brightened.

“So he’s real!”

“Yes, he is real.” Loki still waited for the punch line. “He is the Allfather’s mount.”

Tony, a little too casually, took a drink out of the bottle. “Where’d he get him?”

“He was a gift.”

“From…?”

Loki did not appreciate his prying anymore. He did not like to share his history. “From me, and another,” he answered, vaguely. 

Tony grimaced. “Yeah, I guess that’s—necessary.” He looked at Loki with something akin to wonder. “Is that…normal in Asgard?”

“Sleipnir is one of a kind,” Loki answered, as Tony took another hasty drink. “I labored hard over him.”

Tony choked and almost dropped the bottle. Loki stared at him in amazement while he coughed, and swore a little, and looked extremely uncomfortable. What was wrong with him? “And—” Tony managed, “You just gave him away?”

Yes. He had been struggling to earn the peace and to earn something he thought would be more precious. Loki pretended indifference and shrugged. “Why not?”

“No…paternal feelings at all? After you—ehm…” he coughed, “worked so hard?”

Actually, Loki had gotten quite attached to Sleipnir, and had spent many hours in the stable with him when Loki wished to be alone—or was left alone. But he hadn’t done that in years. Loki shrugged again. “I was a benevolent sorcerer then. And Sleipnir is only a horse.”

“That’s a little cold. But really, is that normal? Just how you roll in Asgard?”

Mortals, Loki decided, just couldn’t fathom magical creatures in their tiny heads. He couldn’t think of another explanation for Tony’s behavior. “Not too common, as great sorcerers are not common. But I enjoy experimenting.”

Tony’s face was actually getting red now.  He swore quietly. After a moment he asked, “Are there others?”

“A few. I am not sure of their whereabouts however.”

Something seemed to occur to Tony. “Does Thor know?”

“Of course.”

He stared and took another drink, then asked, “Does he mind?”

Loki allowed his puzzlement show. “Why would he?”

Tony swore again and put a hand to his head. “I’m all for people doing their own thing, but…golly, and his whole Prince Manners façade really had me going. Does he…do that stuff too?”

Loki chuckled. “He is hardly a sorcerer.”

“Okay…” Tony pondered this for a moment. He took another drink, and spent a few moments collecting himself. “So,” he said, back to his normal tone, “Why the eight legs? Did his dad have eight legs? Are there lots of eight-legged horses?”

Loki shook his head and smiled. “Just Sleipnir.”

“Then…do Jotuns have eight legs?”

 _What?_

Suddenly, Loki’s whole perspective got knocked off its tracks. “I beg your pardon?”

“Well, you’re a Jotun, right? Do they have eight legs? Or four legs and four hands or something? Sorry, yeah, Thor told me. Security measures and such.”

Loki set down his mug, hard and leaned back, looking at Tony through narrowed eyes. Shock coursed through his veins at the mortal’s knowledge, but he would be furious at Thor later. There was something more important to figure out at hand. “What are you saying?”

“Hey, I don’t care that you’re a Jotun. I’m just trying to figure out why your foal has eight legs.”

“My—” Everything clicked into place, and Loki’s mouth dropped open. The myth…the mortals thought that he was…no, because before Tony made the Jotun comment, he’d asked about Sleipnir’s father. So that meant…Loki stared dumbstruck at Tony for at least thirty seconds before he found his voice again. “Your story…is that…I am Sleipnir’s…” He couldn’t even finish. He should probably be scathing, but he was still too stunned. Of all the horrific, insulting, wild—ridiculous ideas. Loki suddenly thought back to when he had stopped visiting Sleipnir, and got the mental image of a confused, hurt horse, pining for the severed connection.

 _My,_ Loki thought, _what a terrible mother I am._

Then the dam broke, and Loki’s black humor exploded. He burst out laughing—not in a dignified chuckle, but in loud, sudden peals. Tony jumped back and stumbled against the counter. Loki melted against the counter and began to get dizzy from lack of air. His lungs hurt, but he couldn’t stop. He rested his forehead against his hand and shook. 

He had finally begun to get control of himself when a renegade thought came to him. _Poor Sleipnir. His mother left him._

And he started laughing again. Bright lights exploded in his eyes and he couldn’t see. His skin stung and felt wet, and at first he thought his scabs had broken. But then his eyes were stinging too, and he realized he was crying.

When he finished, he found himself sitting on the floor with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, his greatest difficulty in keeping himself from giggling like a maiden, and instead diminishing into chuckles. 

He finally looked up, still grinning, and still catching his breath. Tony had sat on the counter with his arms folded, watching him with an amused expression.

“I take it the story’s a little different than you remember?” 

“Mortals,” Loki scoffed, getting to his feet. He felt weaker than before, but…surprisingly had less pain. “Wherever do you get such absurd ideas?” He gathered his dignity, and then picked up his mug and left the kitchenette. Tony slid off the counter and tagged along behind.

“So, where’d Sleipnir come from?”

“Clearly, I had sexual relations with a horse and birthed him myself,” Loki said in a dry tone.

“No, for real.”

“What makes you think that is not true?”

“Because you just asked where we got such absurd ideas!”

“Sometimes the truth is absurd.”

“Come on!”

Loki smiled to himself as he stepped into a living room area. “This floor has been promised to me as my personal space. You may leave now.”

“Oh, I may?” Tony started to step in after him. “This is my building, Rudolf—”

Loki jerked a thumb. “Window. And you seem to be without your armor.” Loki held up Tony’s pocket knife, smiling. Tony stopped short.

“Wait—where did—” He dug his hands into his pockets and glared. “How—”

Loki, still smiling, clicked the knife shut and tossed it back to him. Tony was clever. He ought to receive the message. _Do not underestimate me._

Tony caught his knife and raised his hands. “Okay, okay, hint taken. I’ll just ask Thor.”

“You do that.” Loki kept a straight face until Tony left. Then he began to laugh again, and wished he could be there to see Thor’s reaction.

He finished the last dregs of his tea and explored the floor. Most everything electronic had been removed—though this floor had been largely unused—but he found in the back of a closet a small television set, another device he didn’t know the name of and some films. Loki didn’t know how to work it, so he decided that he wasn’t interested and continued circling.

After seeing everything else, he stood in front of the closed door that led into his prison room. He hesitated longer than necessary, keeping himself very cold and calm, and then pushed it open. The smell like flowers still lingered in the air, and Loki cringed, his hand going to his mouth as he struggled to not vomit. His heart pounded and his body sent off alarm signals.

 _Calm down!_ He ordered himself. _There is nothing here!_

His body didn’t listen, and magic snapped through his body. Loki went stiff, startled. The panic subsided instantly.

The bodies of the things had been cleaned out and the room set back to rights. Loki forced himself to take several deep breaths. He rolled his head to loosen his shoulders, and then went to the box that held Pepper Potts’ books, lifted it, and went back out, shutting the door behind him.

He didn’t stop until he got back to the large living area, where he set down the box with a thud and sank down onto a leather chair, staring at his hands. The magic hadn’t hurt. He didn’t dare try to find it now, but that instinctive, defensive wave hadn’t hurt. 

All the time he realized more and more how little he truly knew, despite being one of the most advanced sorcerers in the nine realms. He could control magic, weave intricate spells, manipulate dimensions, deceive senses, defy what the mortals called “physics”. But he didn’t understand the magic itself.

Whatever his magic did, Loki decided to keep it to himself, give no hints, not use a thing. He stretched his fingers—the cuts burning and straining at the stitches—and picked up a new book, titled “Pride and Prejudice”, and spent the rest of the day reading. 

ɤ

“Sleipnir?” Thor tipped some Frangelico into his coffee. “Yes, that was Loki’s doing.” 

Jane curled up against Thor’s side as he settled back into the couch. She sipped at her own non-alcoholic coffee, droopy-eyed. Early that morning she’d returned to New Mexico to gather up her equipment and explain to Erik almost everything that had been going on (okay, so she sorta kinda completely left out Loki), and her decision to live at the tower until it got sorted out. 

 “Where’d he come from?” Tony took the Frangelico and drank it straight. 

 “Well,” Thor twisted the huge mug in his hands. “It was back when Loki and I were still young men. Asgard and another Realm, Nidavellir, home of the great dwarvish craftsmen, were at odds. It started out petty, but quickly escalated; Nidavellir accusing Asgard of mistreatment and mispayment of their workers and goods, and Asgard accusing Nidavellir of lying and manipulation. Things were said on both sides that were not the least bit true, which turned into nasty insults and indignation. We were close to war. I remember, one night, while I raved about the injustice of the accusations, Loki said in disgust how childish everyone was being over nothing.”

“Loki was disgusted? I thought he liked chaos.” Tony plopped down on the chair, one leg hanging over the arm while he twisted his torso and managed to almost rest on his stomach. Jane thought the same thing.

“He does, and did. But at that time, he only liked chaos he thought to be harmless. If our two Realms went to war, Loki understood better than I that Father and I—not to mention Loki himself—might not return. I became angry with him and demanded why he did not want to defend Father’s honor. He answered just as angrily that there was no reason to go to war when neither side really wanted to, and neither side would benefit. I answered that we would benefit; Asgard would teach the Realms what happened when atrocious lies were spread! Loki said all Asgardians who wanted this war were idiots, and I the biggest one of them all. I said that all who didn’t want this war were cowards and disloyal to Asgard and the Allfather. Loki became absolutely furious, as did I, and we parted thoroughly resentful of one another.”

“Wow. That escalated quickly.” Jane yawned. Tony snorted and, to her surprise, Thor laughed.

“We often did so. Loki and I hated each other frequently, but it rarely lasted long. The next day I was ready to forgive—I admit, perhaps not to apologize—or at least pretend the whole thing had not happened, but Loki was not there. That did not alarm me, and his absence was not noted by Father, since sometimes he went days without seeing Loki anyway; Loki often kept to his room for long periods of time. He also often completely disappeared for days at a time. So I was not alarmed, but very annoyed that he would leave to study magic when Asgard was on the brink of war.

“However, he stayed away a very long time. Weeks. I don’t remember exactly how long. Father, Mother, and I began to be very concerned for him. Tensions grew ever tighter. No one knew when the first move would be made, if at all. Then one night I finally looked into Loki’s room to find him sitting on his bed, not doing anything. I found this extraordinarily strange, because Loki rarely sits and does nothing. I asked him where he had been, and he sharply answered that it was none of my business. Seeing how exhausted he looked, I left him in peace and informed Mother and Father of his return. A few days later, a messenger from Nidavellir came, saying that it was believed that neither Realm wanted war, and they wished to negotiate and present the Allfather with a gift of peace. Of course, none of us thought that the gift would be anything significant; most thought it was only to be a distraction and an attempt to get the better end of whatever agreement was made. Father agreed, and when the two leaders met, the dwarves presented the Allfather with the most fantastic colt of great speed and strength: Sleipnir. 

“The negotiations took a long time, but the gift helped immensely, as the enormous value of Sleipnir indicated a true desire for peace and forgiveness. The Allfather even returned the favor with a token. It didn’t take long, however, to find out that Loki had been the force behind it. Soon we discovered that Loki had gone to Nidavellir and spoken with them, saying that neither Realm wanted war. They accused him of lying and trying to get an advantage, to which Loki retorted that the Allfather did not even know of his coming. And he was alone, and they could hold him for ransom if they wished, but he had a plan to bring everything to rights. That time, at least, Loki’s silver tongue was a great gift to our Realms. They listened to him, and with his help—as dwarves are familiar with non-living gifts, but not living—bred an animal fit for a gift to the Allfather. They used the best stallion and mare (acquired with Loki’s help) and Loki’s large doses of magic. He then warned them to not tell the Allfather he was involved and returned home.”

“How did you find out Loki did it?” Jane asked, unable to fully believe this tale of a benevolent chaos-avoiding Loki.

Thor laughed. “Loki hung back during the gift-giving and stayed in the background while the Allfather and leader of Nidavellir spoke privately, but after everything was finished, and our family was alone, Father called us to come and see what was certain to become a great stallion; he was already quite large, almost as tall as our mother. Loki tried to slip away, but I would not let him. Once Sleipnir caught sight and smell of him, he trotted right over and acted so familiar, Loki knew it was over and didn’t even try to show surprise. Instead he sighed and greeted the horse, and looked despondently at us in a manner that indicated his hand had been caught in a tray of sweets. I remember staring at him with my mouth open as the colt nickered and brushed Loki’s face and stuck his nose under his arm.” 

Jane swirled the coffee in her mug, thoughtful. “Did he get in trouble?” 

“Yeah, ‘cause that would be totally unfair,” Tony put in.

“Only mildly. Father was prouder than he was cross. He did not like Loki interfering in such a dangerous way, but he could not really scold him since it had turned out better than Father had dared to hope. We had to keep it a secret, of course.”

“What for? Sounds like a great story for a bar,” Tony snickered. 

“The pride of Nidavellir,” Thor answered simply. “Eventually, the word did, unofficially, get out. But we never spoke a word about it, except amongst ourselves. Such long past rumors are easily forgotten.”

Jane snuggled closer, pondering the story. She had no doubt that most of what Thor said was true, but she couldn’t comprehend that Loki hadn’t had some sort of personal motivation to do what he did.

  _Oh well,_ she thought, as she fell asleep with Thor’s arm around her shoulders. _It doesn’t matter. Even if he meant to be self-serving, he did help the Realms._

ɤ

_Everything is perfect._

Loki spent a horrific night. Exhaustion plucked at him as the light began to change outside, switching from natural to man-made. Loki shook himself and made a new cup of tea, scaldingly hot. He still ate nothing, but he consumed lots of tea. He drank this new cup in front of the window. 

_They are going to regret this._

The hours wore on, and still Loki didn’t sleep. He started to. During the day, he’d taken cushions and blankets from around the floor and piled them in the center of the living area, more in the fashion of his old bed in Asgard. He tried lying down in it more than once, but he jumped at every imagined sound and disturbance, and had to get back up to shake off the feeling. He didn’t have to worry about nightmares, he knew, since he didn’t dream. All he had to do was get to sleep. But he couldn’t. So he drank tea, paced, recited pages in his memory. He couldn’t read, because that took too much focus on his eyes, which would sooner close than read. 

_He stands on the brink of a cliff, and for an instant he can’t remember what Asgard looks like._

He found ice in a freezer in the kitchenette and ran the cubes over his skin, enjoying both the cool sensation—he didn’t easily go numb, even when he wasn’t in Jotun form—and the waking effect it had on his brain. He sucked on the ice as well, and then alternated between ice and tea. He tried iced tea and decided he didn’t like it much. 

_It comes back, floods of gold, colors, and laughing, sobbing, pain. Loki holds his fingers up and looks at them silhouetted against the dark sky. Magic sooths now, like a deep comfort, and he doesn’t remember it ever being like this on Asgard._

He paced. He was used to not getting much sleep under normal circumstances—especially if he got in a rut studying—but these weren’t normal circumstances.

 _I am safe,_ he told himself, every few minutes. _I am safe._

But he didn’t believe that. And Loki finally had to admit to himself that he was afraid of going to sleep.

_Why is it like this? What has the Tesseract done? Magic doesn’t just jump to his whim now, it comes to him sometimes without his calling; instinctive, automatic, integrated, like it is simply another part of him. He does magic sometimes without meaning to._

At last, hunched over a glass of ice water—the tea’s warmth made him too sleepy, even though the sugar should have helped him stay awake—Loki looked up to see the light changing to natural once more. He stared into space, turning the glass in his hands, and drinking out of it. He rocked on his heels, having given up sitting hours ago. His eyes stung from exhaustion. Thor probably wouldn’t be up for a few more hours yet.

_He doesn’t think it had been like this on Asgard._

_Why do I care?_ He wondered, and then didn’t even try to come up with an answer. It was too much work. He set down the glass on a table. The light got brighter, and Loki began to doze on his feet, leaning his side against the long window with his arms folded.

_But the Tesseract doesn’t seem to be enhancing him now. It has a different sort of power. So why does he suddenly know magic?_

At long last, the doors slid open.  “Good morning, Loki!” Thor boomed. Loki shook himself and turned to face him. Thor frowned. “You look terrible. Did you sleep at all?”

“No,” Loki said. “Now leave me alone.”

To his surprise, Thor obliged, turning on his heel and leaving without protest. Loki collapsed onto his makeshift nest of pillows and blankets and was instantly asleep.

_He tries to remember which pathways he brought Laufey’s men through the first time, but he can’t, the memory is too faint, and this bothers him._

ɤ

Clint didn’t give orders. He followed them. He made up his own mind whose orders to follow; if not another’s, then his own instinct’s. But he didn’t lead. He followed. He always followed. He wasn’t a dedicated soldier like Steve: if he didn’t like who he was following, or the job he was given, he left them or it for another. But he followed. He watched. He strategized his own movements, but not another’s. He preferred working on his own, but he could work with a team, then strategizing twice: what to do if everyone did their job. What to do if someone ducked out, or something didn’t go according to plan. The team had to work like a well-oiled machine, or it didn’t work at all. Clint knew just as well as anyone how quickly a mission could blow up in their faces if a team member didn’t follow the leader’s orders. No matter how good an individual worked, they had to work with the others. Everyone had to agree, or at least be on the same page and follow the same plan. That’s why you had the leader.

So what do you do when you know the leader to be wrong?

Clint rolled his question over and over in his mind as he moved silently through the dark hallways, running his hands over the grooves and gears in his bow.

_What do you do?_

Before, Clint had just left. He didn’t want to be part of a mission that he knew would fail. But for the first time…Clint didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay. But how could he? Could he squelch his survival instinct and stay aboard a ship destined to sink, in the name of teamwork and wanting?

Or do you disobey the leader?

But that went against all of his instincts, survival or otherwise. Either you jump ship or you stay on and hope it doesn’t sink; you don’t sabotage the crew. 

Clint took the stairs, an instinctive, apprehensive tightening of his muscles gripping him as he came to the floor. He hesitated for an instant, running his hands along his bow again, before passing it by and continuing upwards.

_What do you do?_

If a sailor thought his captain was sabotaging the ship, he sometimes committed mutiny. But that required planning, and leadership. Planning, Clint had. But not leadership. Besides, his ‘mutiny’, if it happened, would only consist of one act. Once over, he didn’t want to have control of anything. He’d give it all back to Steve. But once broken, could that part of the machine really go back to normal?

Clint stepped out onto the roof as the sun began to creep over the edge of the horizon. He stood with one foot on the ledge and looked straight down, making himself think. 

The others didn’t understand him. He didn’t hate Loki. He didn’t. Not personally. Before the incident, Clint had thought himself changed. Not perfect, but working for—making sure he worked for people with good intentions. He’d almost dare to say moral intentions. Discernment in following. Before that, he…hadn’t. Natasha, the only one who might discern any mutiny plan he formulated, could almost read his thoughts, and whenever the knowledge overwhelmed him: “Don’t do that to yourself, Clint.”

But he didn’t do anything to himself. He had killed people. Innocent people. He didn’t care that he did it as Loki’s personal zombie pet. If he had truly changed, he could have resisted, have fought—at the very least not have been so deadly. He could not picture, for example, Steve doing such things. Steve disagreed, and told him so. Everyone told him so: “it wasn’t his fault”. 

But it was. How could he have _—_

Clint wavered, caught himself, and took a deep breath, stepping away from the edge. After he’d first woken up, he couldn’t remember anything, except the horror of knowing that he’d been Loki’s zombie. That he’d essentially been mind-raped. Later, after the battle, he started remembering. He then avoided Loki at all costs. All conversation of Loki, all hints of Loki, all thoughts of Loki. But even if he could do it during the day, it came back during the night. Over time, he’d suppressed it. Blocked out the memories. He knew his strengths, and handling this, right now, wasn’t one of them. And then Loki appeared in person, and the burning memories redoubled. He didn’t want revenge on Loki. 

He wanted to get rid of the reminder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: The pressure starts to get to people. Loki and others begin to do reckless things.


	7. Fracture

Pepper arrived at the tower one morning and realized with surprise at how normal it now felt now to have a sociopath living quietly above her head. She questioned her own sanity when she received, genuinely feeling no surprise or strangeness, Thor’s informing her that his brother had requested a change in clothing. The others, barring Thor, while getting used to the idea, did not seem comfortable. Yes, that was it—she was almost comfortable.         

But a change of clothing posed a problem, and she leaned back in her chair with her arms folded. “Of course he can have more clothes, Thor, but…” she mused over the problem in her head. “Let’s see, he’s taller than everybody except you, but now that I’ve seen him without all his armor and leather and stuff, he’s super skinny…at least compared to you…I guess I’ll have to go shopping.”

“I do not like to inconvenience you,” Thor said, sitting down in the lounge chair that was—unbeknownst by him—often occupied by Jane when she hid from him. “Surely such a task is outside your regular duties.”

Pepper laughed. “I gave up the idea of ‘regular duties’ a long time ago. I now prefer to think of myself as problem-solver extraordinaire. You would not believe some of the things Tony’s had me do.”

Thor smiled. “I could accompany you, since I am more familiar with Loki’s dimensions.”

Pepper shook her head. “You’re a celebrity, and the media documents every move you make outside this tower. We don’t want to give them any hints. I can manage.” She tapped her chin with one finger. “The longest, thinnest things the store has, preferably in black and green. I’ve got it covered.”

Thor stood. “I wish I could bring some of his things from Asgard. They are stilled stored in his chambers, as if he had never left.” Thor looked so wistful that Pepper had to remind herself that at one time Loki had truly been different. “I fear he might reject whatever you bring him.”

“Well, he’ll have to deal with pitiful Midgardian things, or wear dirty clothes. His own call.” Pepper shrugged. Thor laughed, his wistfulness momentarily gone. 

“Thank you, Miss Potts,” he said, and left.

Pepper ended up giving up the idea of trying to get green and black clothes, as Loki’s “dimensions” severely limited her choices already. She found a few pairs of jeans—one dark, one light—a couple t-shirts, and congratulated herself upon finding a green-grey striped hoodie. As an afterthought, she also picked up a few pairs of socks, completely guessed Loki’s shoe size and—wondering how insulted he’d be—some underwear. 

“Shopping for a friend?” The cashier asked brightly.

“Yes. He insists he can’t ever find anything that fits him. If it weren’t for me he’d be running around in gunnysacks.” That was partly true. Pepper did all of Tony’s clothes ordering for him, but only because he never bothered, not because he didn’t think he could find anything that fit. She doubted he ever noticed how she cycled his clothes for him. 

Late in the afternoon, she rode up to Loki’s floor in the elevator, and then pondered how to knock. Oh well, she couldn’t help it if the elevator doors opened before she got the chance. Besides, Loki would probably be in one of the smaller rooms, not the—oh.

Pepper stepped out of the elevator and it took several moments for her to hide her surprise. She was so used to Loki being sophisticated and aloof, she had a hard time comprehending him making a nest in the middle of the lounge like she used to when she was a little kid. Loki sprawled in the middle of it, propped up against several large cushions, with his legs stretched out in front of him and his hands clasped over his stomach. He turned his head and looked at her, then got to his feet. 

If she hadn’t already been consciously wearing her professional pleasant face, she would have had another battle to hide her surprise. Loki looked—tired. Deadbeat. Devoid of the sparks anger, hatred, mischief—life. He ran a hand through his hair, slicking it back, and straightened his rumpled shirt before turning and walking toward her. 

“Miss Potts,” he greeted her with a nod, and no smile, devious or otherwise.

“I brought you some clean clothes,” Pepper said, holding out the plastic bag, with a smile she hoped would spark some sort of response in his demeanor. It didn’t. “I know they aren’t up to Asgardian standards, but I hope they’re suitable.”

Loki took the bag from her and let it hang from his fingers without looking at its contents. “Thank you.” He went back to his nest and put the bag down on one of the side tables, and then glanced at her over his shoulder. Pepper realized he meant for her to come in, so she followed him into the strange little bed area.

“I would like to return your books,” he said, pulling the cardboard box out from under the table and balancing it on the arm of the couch.

“Oh, did you like them?” Pepper moved to take it, but Loki stood with his hands still resting on its sides, and she stepped back again.

“Yes. They proved a welcome—diversion.” Loki looked down at the books.

“Diversion,” Pepper repeated, with what she hoped was an understanding nod. 

“Yes.” Loki’s hands slid off of the box and he smiled a little, still not looking at her. “Back when I—resided on Asgard, I often spent many hours in my chambers reading, writing, studying magic…” he stopped, and his gaze quickly flicked to the side, and then to the floor in front of him. His smile faded. “Alone,” he finished. 

Pepper picked up the box, and looked quickly in the same direction Loki had—straight at a security camera.

Oh.

Loki cleared his throat, his hands behind his back. “Anyway,” he said, and didn’t continue.

The silence got awkward, and Pepper ventured, “I can get you more books if you want.”

“Thank you,” Loki said, and turned his back on her. Dismissal. Pepper left.

Back in her office, she pulled out her Harry Potter book thoughtfully and absent-mindedly flipped through it. She stopped, a little startled, when she found words scribbled in black ink on the pages. She squinted at it, and her eyes widened a little. She sat down and started to read them, then got up and shut the door so no one would hear her laughing.

Loki had written a long essay about Harry’s—or JK Rowling’s; he went back and forth—completely incorrect magical theories in the margins of the book. She didn’t understand a word of Loki’s descriptions, but she could recognize a rant whenever she read one, and thoroughly enjoyed herself. At the end, halfway through the book, very large indeed, were the words: “THIS IS INTOLERABLE. SUCH CHILDISH PRATTLE. MORTALS SHOULD NOT ATTEMPT TO WRITE SOMETHING ABOUT WHICH THEY HAVE NO COMPREHENSION. I CAN NOT STAND TO READ FURTHER.”

And indeed, the rest of the book was clean. Pepper took out the other books, and saw that Loki had written commentary in the margins of every single one—but not always as dignified as he was in Harry Potter. She would have been angry at his spoiling her books, but it was just too funny. Her favorite was Pride and Prejudice, where Loki spent a long time writing reactionary notes to Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy that usually went along the lines of: “You are such an imbecile. It is clear that [such and such a thing] indicates you are highly attracted to him/her. Just admit it to yourself already. You are a shame to even the mortal race.” After Mr. Darcy wrote the letter to Elizabeth, Loki’s note was:  “…oh dear.” And after their extreme argument: “No, no, no! You are in love, remember?” After Mr. Bingley’s departure and Jane’s despair: “Do not think such a thing! Elizabeth is right! He loves you! HE LOVES YOU! Austen, if you spoil this, I WILL OBLITERATE EVERY SCRAP OF YOUR WRITING OUT OF EXISTENCE. BRING THEM BACK TOGETHER.” And, in an especially touchy moment inflamed by Mrs. Bennet: “Shut your infernal trap. Norns! I will transport into your world and sew your mouth shut myself! How will your blasted nerves be then? Your breathing lowers the intelligence of the entire eighteenth century!” That one had Pepper in hysterics for a long time. She had so longed to tell Mrs. Bennet that herself, and Loki had parceled out the perfect insult. She almost wanted lessons.

After going home, she hid the books back in her bookshelves, feeling now uneasy about keeping Loki locked up. Obviously, having free range wasn’t an option. But still…she remembered how he’d given that camera a glance. Loki wanted privacy. Was that too much to give a helpless criminal?

Well, yes, obviously. But that didn’t mean she had to like it. She almost felt sorry for him. If it weren’t for his psychotic attempts to dominate/destroy worlds, and the cause of Tony’s almost-death, he would be likable, in his own off-kilter cute way.

ɤ

Loki went to the restroom, where he was fairly sure there were no cameras, bathed, and changed. The Midgardian garments grated strangely against his skin. The leggings were rough, but the shirt with short sleeves—much like Thor often wore now—felt cool and comfortable. The clothes didn’t fit quite right—the trousers were long enough, but loose, and the shirt felt a little too tight across the chest—but tolerable. His skin was still irritated, but beginning to heal. Loki slicked his hair back and left the restroom.

He hadn’t been acting when Pepper Potts came. Upon waking, he did not feel as merry about the tale of Sleipnir the mortals had spread as he had last night. He didn’t feel insulted either, just…a little—what was the Midgardian phrase?—shell-shocked. He didn’t know what to think. Everyone had their own opinion about him, and everyone was dead wrong _._ He ought to be used to it by now. And it wasn’t just the Sleipnir tale that bothered him. Loki mused as he followed the directions on the clothes-washing machine he’d discovered in a closet to wash his Asgardian garments. 

He was restless, and beginning to get frustrated. He highly doubted now that he was safe here, and he had no idea how much time he had left. He struggled to think of a plan—any plan—and couldn’t. He hated to admit it, but he needed people to protect and fight for him, at least while he was in this state. That was the reason for his pretenses with Pepper Potts. The notes in the margins of her manuscripts he didn’t doubt would soften her demeanor towards him—if she ever found them, that is. Mortals and Asgardians alike were ridiculously sentimental in that regard: when an enemy shows a side strikingly similar to your own, you can’t help but feel as though they are better than they were before. 

His pointed look at the security camera was also to gain sympathy. He had no hopes of actually gaining privacy, or Pepper Potts’ full support. Only sympathy. Perhaps a plea.

Loki sighed and went to the kitchen to see what light food he could scrounge for a meal. 

ɤ

Loki jerked awake. He trusted his instinct and quickly got to his feet. Despite the artificial lights streaming through the windows from outside, the room felt dark. He kept his back to the light, and looked into the depths of the room where shadows gathered. It took him a moment to spot the figure standing in a corner. Loki stood very still and waited. His gaze flickered over the posture of the figure, the way the arms were held, one straight, the other bent, glints in a few key places. 

“Barton.”

Hawkeye came forward into the light, holding his bow, drawn, but pointed downwards.

“Are you here to interrogate me?”

“I don’t interrogate.”

“Ah. That is Natasha’s area, of course. You just do the killing.”

“Or the lack of it.” Hawkeye kept coming forward until he stood only a few steps away. Loki took a casual step in the opposite direction, keeping his gaze fixed on Hawkeye. He smiled.

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a fact.” Hawkeye followed him, keeping the distance between them small, as they slowly began to circle the room.

“I hardly dare to hope this is a friendly visit.”

“That’s a good assumption.”

“Are you here to test me, then? Or are you merely carrying out the orders of your superiors? To kill or maim me while I appear at my weakest?” Loki clucked his tongue, taking a quick glance to the side to make sure he wouldn’t run into any furniture. “I had thought Captain Rogers to be above that.”

“He’s your captain now?”

A bad attempt at wordplay. “He is yours. At least I had thought so.”

“I’m not here on his orders.”

“Am I about to witness insubordination then?”

“That’s not the end result.”

“Oh, come now, Barton.” Loki grinned. “No need for shame. I am quite proud of you. You are thinking for yourself! Taking action as you see fit!” They passed into a darker part of the room, where Hawkeye became shrouded in shadows, and Loki cursed his glowing brand. “You will become better than you were in Spain. That was what I was trying to show you.”

“Yeah, emphasize free choice by turning me into your flying monkey.”

Loki didn’t understand the phrase, but he took it at face value. “The complexities of humanity.” Loki put out his hand behind him and his fingers brushed a wall. He turned a little so that he walked alongside of it. “It is unfortunate that you leave Natasha behind though. I would have saved her as well if I could have.”

The next moment, Loki was wondering how a human could move so fast. He jerked back, startled that the arrow had actually pierced his flesh. He wrapped his fingers around the shaft and jerked it back out. The point was long and thin, but not deep. 

“That juice can kill a full-grown bull blue whale in five minutes,” Clint said. “I’m hoping it’ll slow you down a little.”

Loki, looking down at the arrow, a little in shock as he felt the poison coursing through his veins, started to laugh. 

Then the human struck again. Loki stumbled back, then threw him off and snarled, “You have some nerve, mort—” Hawkeye didn’t let him finish, and Loki jerked backwards as a lithe weight clung to his back, arms wrapping around his neck, metal glittering in the hands.

Loki grabbed the hand that held the cruel serrated-edged weapon, but found himself unable to control his momentum. He crashed into a wall. Hawkeye, his pillow, made no sound. Alarmed, Loki blinked hard to try to clear his vision of spots, his mind clouded. He couldn’t think. The arms were crushing again, strong for a mortal. Loki grabbed at them, planted his feet, and twisted out. Hawkeye dropped into a crouch, and then darted to the side. Loki grabbed his wrists, and for a moment they stood struggling against each other. Loki’s balance disappeared and they both fell. 

Loki’s sluggish mind began to race along with his heart as he kept injury, perhaps death, away from him, grappling on the ground. He felt as though he were floating. His mind detached from his body while he pondered the problem.

Hawkeye, probably trying to kill him. In his own mind, it was best for his team, though doubtlessly fueled by revenge. Loki couldn’t kill him, and he couldn’t hurt him. That is, he was capable (he thought), but such an action couldn’t be defined as “behaving”—even if it was brought on by Hawkeye’s attack. Even if they would forgive him, Loki couldn’t take the risk. He didn’t know how much time he had, or how powerful the poison was. Normally, his magic would keep any poison at bay, but Loki couldn’t allow his magic to do anything. It could easily become visible. After he fell, it grew to where it would automatically defend him, but in his current state it was simply there for him to control, if he could manage to grasp it. And he needed the Avengers to think him weakened, if not, by their standards, weak. 

Loki then wondered why Jarvis wasn’t interfering. And decided that he must recognize Hawkeye as an authority whose motives didn’t need to be questioned. Or Hawkeye had already given him instructions. Or other Avengers, if not Steve Rogers, were in on this. Likely Tony Stark.

Loki finally broke free and rolled, scrambled, and jumped away. In the struggle, they had moved behind the elevator shaft, which stood in the room like a decorative, thick pillar. 

The elevator doors opened. Both of them froze, and looked at each other. Loki was slightly crouched, holding up both hands, and realizing he had blood trickling form his mouth. Hawkeye stood straight and stiff as one of his arrows, then he circled the pillar and disappeared.

“Brother?”

Loki straightened and rubbed at his mouth, his hand jerking and trembling. He glared at his shaking appendage before he called out, “I am here, Thor.” He meant to ask what Thor was doing up here at this time of night, but his voice, inexplicably, almost broke and he didn’t risk it.

Thor came around the pillar and let out a mighty sigh. “Why are you up?”

“Why are you?” Loki retorted, shivering. 

Thor shambled closer. “Tony thinks he saw a shift in the dimensional atmosphere. He sent me up here to warn you.”

“Stark wanted to warn me? I suddenly feel much more apprehensive.” 

“Yes he did, Loki, and you would do well to listen to him.”

“Thor, I can sense disturbances. I told him that. I have felt nothing—” Loki’s balance disappeared again. He jerked his arms up, rolled his head to one side, and took sudden, sideways steps. _Damn it, not now!_

“Loki!” Thor’s hands enveloped his shoulders and Loki gripped his upper arms, resentful of the touch, but glad to have something he knew to be holding still—even if his support felt like it was swinging like pendulum. “What is wrong? Can you sense anything?”

“Nothing,” Loki said, blinking hard to clear his vision while he stared over Thor’s shoulder. “I am…ill.”

“We must go to your bed,” Thor decided.

“I do not require your assistance,” Loki said, letting go of Thor’s arms. He almost fell, but Thor’s arm wrapped around his shoulders in a warm half-embrace. Loki began shivering again.

“I think you do,” Thor said. Loki made no more protest as he limped across the room to his nest. On the way, more than once, he jerked to the side, unable to control his balance reflexes, even when he knew he could no longer tell up from down. He wondered if the poison really could kill him. Thankfully for him, the severe nausea didn’t hit until after Thor had lowered him down onto his blankets and pillows.

He wasn’t going to tell anybody, Loki decided, as he shivered and sweated and jerked as his body fought to deal with something powerful without magic. He didn’t think it would do any good, and he wouldn’t humiliate himself. Hawkeye had failed to kill him this time. He would fail again, if he continued to try.

Loki told himself that, though he knew that if Hawkeye entered now in another attempt to kill him, he would be forced to use magic to ward him off. Because in this state, he was helpless. Again.

Loki ground his teeth.

ɤ

Natasha’s well-trained instinct screamed at her. Clint hid something. Subtleties changed; indecision to surety. Something had changed.

Natasha slipped into the weapons-upkeep storage room to grab solvent for her pistols. Or to have an excuse for being in a room adjacent to the one Clint was in. She sat on the table, scrubbing the barrel with a thin bore brush while she looked through the glass on the door at Clint. He ran on the treadmill—a full-fledged full-out long-strided run, not something for which most people had the capacity for the long periods of time Clint ran—back straight, gazed fixed in front of him. She wished she could think that he had the same quiet, serious, concentration, but he didn’t. His lips were taunt and thin, and his shoulders were tight.

Natasha finished cleaning her gun and put it back into her belt. She carried her guns with her even when she wore casual clothes. Then she shoved the door open and went into the room just as Clint stepped off of the treadmill. He glanced at her, wiping his face with a towel and breathing hard. 

“Hey Nat,” he muttered, walking past her.

“Hey.” Natasha went to the racks and took off her jacket, hanging it on a hook. She turned around and strolled over to where Clint was now pulling himself up on bars. Natasha planted herself on the opposite side and started pulling up in synchronization with him. They looked at each other, silently, for a long time. Up, down. Up, down. Natasha quirked an eyebrow at him. Clint almost glared, but in his own quiet way. Up, down. Natasha knew that he knew that she knew that he knew that she would be able to find out what was eating him, with or without his help. She wasn’t a master spy and assassin for nothing. Either he could tell her, or she’d dig it out. Up, down. Up, down.

“If I saw him in the hall, I’d kill him,” he said suddenly. 

Up, down.

“I suppose it’s a good thing he isn’t in the hall then,” Natasha answered.

“Is it?” To amateurs, Clint’s face didn’t change. To Natasha, it tightened and the eyes went hard.

“Yes. For one thing it would be morally inacceptable and against the Captain’s orders. And for another, he would kill you first.”

“No he wouldn’t.” Clint lowered himself and stayed there, his hands still above his head on the bars. Natasha mimicked him. “If we struck him now he wouldn’t be able to fight back.”

Natasha moved the puzzle pieces around in her head. “What makes you so sure?”

Clint twisted his palms on the bars and didn’t answer at first. Then, “I tried to kill him last night.”

To have such a thing stated so blatantly made even Natasha’s stomach turn. But she wasn’t the least bit surprised. “Then what stopped you?”

“Thor.” Clint let his hands slide off of the apparatus and wiped them on the towel. “Thor came in.” He spun on his heel, still wiping his hands, to the portable equipment area. 

Natasha stood there a moment before following. “Why, Clint?”

“Because he’s a bastard.” Clint picked up his bow and slung his quiver over his shoulder.

“Are you the reason he’s sick again? You give him poison?”

“Argentina.”

“You can’t do that, Hawkeye. Not when we’re a team,”

“Everybody should have tried what I did.” Clint’s eyes glinted, and then the spark faded and he looked tired. “If you don’t want me to kill him, you’ll have to follow me. You’ll have to stop me. Because if it ever becomes more convenient for me to kill him than to let him live, I’m going to do it, Nat. I’m going to do it.”

ɤ

Over the next two nights, in the small hours of the morning, Loki woke up to a Chitauri warrior standing over him. It was only after much pacing and shivering and sweating and fully waking up that the hallucinations would fade.

_“If you should fail, if the Tesseract is kept from us, there will be no Realm, no barren moon, no crevice where He cannot find you. You think you know pain? He will make you long for something sweet as pain.”_

As the sun sank, sending orange beams reflecting off the metal buildings, Loki slipped into the restroom and closed the door. He leaned against the wall, taking deep breathes and looking at his face in the mirror. He touched the faded red lines criss-crossing his face, the scabbing and the stitches gone. His fingers curled into a fist as he touched one of the blue. 

Those weren’t leaving.

Loki avoided looking in mirrors.

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, his double stood beside him. Loki checked that it was an exact representation, and then stepped inside of the illusion. It flickered at the paradox, but stabilized. Loki left the restroom. For the next several minutes, He walked through the apartment like he would if he weren’t planning anything…devious. He thought carefully about what he needed to do next, theorizing what he knew about computers and magic and how they merged as to what he needed to do to confuse Jarvis’s sensors so that he appeared invisible.

Thor—finally, Loki thought, it was exhausting staying exactly inside his clone—finally came up, arms laden with large brown paper bags.

“Here Loki.” Thor lumbered to the kitchen and set the bags down on the counter with a thump. “Pepper got what you asked, and some other basics.” Thor dug through one bag and brought out a rectangular box. “This breakfast cereal, fruit loops, is exquisite!”

“I will be sure to try it tomorrow, Thor. Thank you.” Loki deftly took a quick side-step to avoid what Thor intended to be a shoulder-thwack, which would make his form shimmer. He pretended to be entirely absorbed in gazing into the depths of the bags. “Does anything need to be refrigerated?”

“Just the milk. I will get it!” Thor took out the plastic jug and placed it on a shelf in the refrigerator.

“Thank you,” Loki repeated. 

“I thought, Loki, that perhaps we could—”

“Actually,” Loki interrupted, “I would much prefer having a quiet evening by myself, please.”

“Oh.” Thor looked disappointed, but not like a hurt puppy, thank the Norns. “I will see you tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow,” Loki agreed, then turned away. He waited until Thor’s footsteps started receding, cast invisibility, and then stepped out of his clone and followed him. 

Thor put his hand on the pad, the computer recognized him, and the elevator opened. Loki stepped in behind him and it began to descend. Loki wrinkled his nose in disgust as his stomach lurched. He hated this machine. He followed Thor out at a lower floor, and then took the stairs the rest of the way down.

He thought that the deception would last until he returned, so long as it didn’t get so late as to make a surprise visit from Tony likely. 

Loki stepped outdoors and pulled up sharply with surprise at the frigid air. He pulled the hood on his shirt up over his head and pulled the fabric close around his chin, then skirted down the street, far from Stark Tower. When he felt himself to be a safe distance away, he went into a deserted ally and let the invisibility drop with a sigh of relief. 

He spent a few moments catching his breath before he began to change his appearance. Nothing major could be done without exhausting him, but nothing major was needed. Key changes would keep most anybody from suspecting it was him—and especially mortals. His hair lightened until it was a curled reddish-blond, his eyes changed to blue, and, running his hand along his jaw, Loki added a light illusion of facial hair.

Loki picked up a piece of broken glass and looked at himself. The blue marks he could do nothing about—they would show up on his body no matter what form he took, and he could not hide them without hiding the rest of him—but Midgardians did not know of the universal outlaw markings, and they marked up their bodies with ink so much anyway he didn’t expect them to think twice about it. He thought for a moment, and then brushed his fingers across his lips to hide the scarring. 

Loki dropped the piece of glass, smiled, and held his head high as he stalked out of his hiding place into the streets. He relished his new-found freedom. Perhaps this would work after all. He hadn’t really expected it to; but he could always think of a solution…or if not a solution, at least a course of action to take that might eventually lead to one. And it always had. But for the past weeks, he couldn’t. Nothing. Nothing. This inability to productively think drove him mad. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he was watched that put shackles around his mind.

So he decided to leave, even if just for an evening. Perhaps he could think when he was free. And even if he couldn’t, he might find an answer to another predicament: he could stay “for now”. That’s what Steve Rogers had said.

When that time ran out, Loki needed to have another place to go. 

He wandered the streets for some time and came to a more run-down area of the massive city. Just as well, he thought, looking down at himself. He was certainly dressed for the occasion. His gaze flickered across the street, and he recognized a universal message: _Tavern here!_ Though the mortals called it a “bar”. Loki rolled his shoulders, kept his hood up, and crossed the street, entering the very noisy, dark, and thick-smelling room. Stark had never given him that drink. 

Once inside, Loki bumped into a man and picked his pocket. He took out several pieces of Midgardian paper money (That really was pathetic. Who decided to assign value to paper?) and dropped the wallet, kicking it into a corner. Then he pushed his way to the front. In the process, his hood fell back, but he didn’t bother to replace it. The sour-looking scantily-clad bar maid looked at him, looked at him again, then took her cigarette out of her mouth. 

“What can I get for you?” she asked, with what she probably meant to be a smile, but it showed too many teeth.

Loki didn’t have the slightest idea what Midgardian drinks were called, and he doubted they would have an effect on him. “The strongest you have.”

The barmaid mixed up a mystery and slid it over to him. Loki handed her a large bill. Her eyebrows raised, and she got him change. A lot of change.

Apparently Loki had pick-pocketed someone with quite a lot of money. Loki cursed his inconspicuousness as he rolled up the money and put it away. Fortunately, being an experienced pick-pocket would make it difficult for anyone to pick his pocket without his noticing. 

“That’s quite the drink, dear. Have a bad day?” A woman next to him leaned forward, her voluminous russet falling over her bare arms.  A wave of alluring perfume hit him.

Loki tipped it into his mouth. “Quite a good one, actually,” he answered, wondering if he should try to change his voice to match their accents, and then deciding it wasn’t worth the effort. 

She tipped her head to the side, running her fingers through her hair. “Are you looking for an even better time tonight to finish it off?”

“Whatever the city has to offer.” Loki held his glass to the dim light, a small smile on his lips.

She smiled back, leaning her arm on the bar while she twirled a wine glass, her knees tucked up on the stool. Her skirt was almost non-existent, and one sleeve—strip of cloth, really—slid off of her shoulder. Midgardian fashion really was atrocious.  “Is that so?” 

Loki blinked, tensing at her tone of voice and watched her with suspicion. She touched the back of his hand and traced her fingers up to his wrist. Her eyes looked too dark all of a sudden. 

“I can help with that.”

Oh. Oh. Loki pulled his hand away. “No thank you,” he said, his throat closing and gut curling in revulsion. 

She laughed at him. _Laughed._ “I don’t take no for an answer, dear,” she said, standing up and leaning over as she leaned against the counter. Loki kept his gaze trained on her face. 

“You will have to take it from me,” he managed, anger building inside of him. His fingers twitched as his shoulders tensed. If she took so much as one more step, he was going to throttle her. She laughed at him again.

“Come on, Mirage,” a new voice said. Loki glanced to the side to see another girl in tight jeans and t-shirt, looking at the woman. At least he had one defender.

The prostitute—Mirage—ignored her, leaning over him. Loki tensed. She smirked at his obvious restraint as he refused to look at— _her_ —and her teeth glinted. Her silver bracelets jangled as she ran the back of her hand down the side of his face. “Don’t be nervous. I have a room across the street, and we can do however much or however little you want.”

Loki jerked to his feet and the stool—which had bolts attaching it to the ground—spun crazily, came loose, and fell with a crash.

“Leave the man alone!” someone said—the same girl, Loki thought, but he didn’t stay to find out. He shoved his way back through the people, his breath dragging heavily through his throat. He burst back outside. A small, empty area stood with a few tables and a black decorative fence. Loki leaned against the fence, grabbing at the designs with his hands, catching his breath and struggling to control himself.

“You okay?”

He turned around to see the same girl who’d defended him. Her dull brown hair, cut short, stuck up in wild angles. Loki didn’t answer right away, and the petite girl—well, young woman—continued.

“That’s just Mirage. She’s so successful she doesn’t know when to stop.” 

Loki cleared his throat, looking away at the lonely street. “Yes. Well…” He didn’t finish. 

“I haven’t seen you around before. What’s your name?”

He hadn’t thought of a name. Loki didn’t know what normal Midgardian names were, other than the ones he’d heard. And he wasn’t about to give one of the Avengers’ names as his own. “Erik,” he said, observing the young woman up and down. Well. He’d see where he could go with this. “What’s yours?”

“People call me McCoy,” she answered.

Loki raised an eyebrow, leaning against the fence again and resting his hands on the slick surface. “Call? Is that your name?”

“My last name,” she said, twisting a thick band on her index finger. 

“What’s your first name then?”

The young woman made a face. “Ugh…Marge. Isn’t that terrible? I don’t know what my parents were thinking.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with ‘Marge’,” Loki said, honestly. 

The woman rolled her eyes. “You’re the first. Please, don’t use it. If you don’t want to call me McCoy, call me Meg. If you call me anything. That’s what my dad calls me.”

Loki was unsure what to make of this tirade. He decided to let it go.

“So, you new here?” McCoy/Marge/Meg asked, coming a little closer and perching on the corner of one of the tables.

“Fairly,” Loki said. 

“College? Let me guess…” she squeezed one eye shut, then held up a finger. “You go to Purchase?”

“Yes,” Loki lied.

“I thought so. You look artsy. I go to NYU.  What’s your major?” 

“Major?” Loki repeated. 

Meg gave him a strange look. “What are you studying?” 

“Oh, of course,” Loki picked a subject at random that he had knowledge on, and suspected that it was studied at Midgardian universities. “Literature.”

“Ew,” she said, cheerfully. “I’m majoring in psychology and minoring in physical therapy.”

“Ah.” Loki tapped his fingers against the fence, wondering whether he should try to steer the conversation elsewhere, and where he would steer it if he did so.

“Have you been here before?” Meg tucked her feet up on the edge of the table and wrapped her arms around her knees.

“No,” Loki sent a glare towards the door. “This was my first time.”

“I can get Mirage to leave you alone,” Meg said, and then as if it were an afterthought, “If you want to come back.”

Loki’s face tightened. “Is she a friend of yours?”

“Not really,” Meg shrugged. “Everybody here knows who she is though. Please don’t…you know, call the cops on her. She really isn’t bad.”

Loki dug back through his memory to translate the Midgardian lingo. “The police. Why would I…” Meg gave him another strange look. “Is it illegal?”

“Yeah,” She grimaced and ran a hand through her hair, probably regretting she’d just informed him that he could turn the prostitute in. “But…she makes her money honestly like any other person. Just kind of, er, uniquely.”

Loki couldn’t turn her in without giving himself away, of course. But he was still angry. “She practically assaulted me.” Meg didn’t answer, and Loki let her squirm for a few minutes before letting out a sigh. “I won’t. I don’t want the trouble.”

“Okay,” she slid off of the table again. “I think I’ll…go back in.”

“Yes,” Loki looked away. “Don’t let me keep you from your evening.”

Meg hesitated with her hand on the door. “You can come in…”

“No.”

“I guess I’ll see you some other time then. Erik.” 

Loki nodded to her and she went back inside. He cursed himself for not finding a way to detain her. Now what was he to do? He supposed he could go find another bar, but that idea no longer held any appeal to him. 

He left the street, in case that woman came outside to try and catch him again, and wandered the town for a few more hours, stopping in a café for some tea and a sandwich. He then quietly returned to the tower, invisible, and slipped up to his floor. His clone still took his place in the apartment. Loki switched with it, dropping all illusions. Restlessness surged through him almost instantly. He shook himself and picked up a new book that Pepper had left for him

ɤ

Loki left again the following night. He knew he shouldn’t, but having tasted freedom he felt he couldn’t stand spending long, dark hours in the room again, especially with the threat of waking up to a hallucination that wasn’t a hallucination. He still needed a plan. Accomplices. A place to go when the Chitauri came. Because they would come. The Other still desired the Tesseract, and he would use any means he could to get it from the Allfather, including using who he thought Odin regarded as his son. Because who could turn down that offer? Give up a weapon or lose your son. Except that such a bargain wouldn’t work.

Loki gritted his teeth, holding down the imaginary twinge mixed with betrayed anger and tried not to think about what would follow.

_He will make you long for something sweet as pain._

So he left, and spent several minutes taking long deep breaths of freedom. 

Imagine if Odin had gotten what he wanted, and Loki would have been locked up all this time. Not speaking, not moving. He probably wouldn’t have been able to even think by now. Loki shuddered, and brought his fingers up to his mouth, reminding himself that the threads were not there. He pulled back his shoulders and walked back to the bar of the previous night, pushing through the even more crowded place with brazen confidence.

He ordered the same thing, and stood in the exact same place, with the exact same prostitute, who raised her eyebrows at him, lips parting in a smirk.

“Change your mind, dear?”

Loki swallowed his drink and smiled back, unpleasantly, pressing one finger against the back of her hand where it rested on the counter. He leaned forward and spoke very low, and very fast. “On the contrary, if you so much as speak to me again, the police will find a whore-shaped hole in the front window, and finger-shaped bruises on the cold flesh of your neck.” Mirage narrowed her eyes, her mouth twisting in a disgusted grimace. Loki, still smiling, lifted his finger. “Do we understand each other?” 

“Erik!” a familiar voice called from across the room.

Mirage regained her composure, lips turned down in a strange sneer. She didn’t speak. Smart mortal.

“Good.” Loki finished his drink with another swallow and turned in time to face Meg as she joined them at the counter. 

“I hope you two are being nice,” she said, as she gave the bartender several orders. The red and green lights made severe shadows in her wild hair. Loki supposed maybe she did it that way on purpose. 

“Yes, we get along much better once the pathway is clear,” Loki mused, pushing his drink across the counter for a refill. Mirage didn’t look at him, but gave Meg an exaggerated pleasant smile.

“Your friend is quite the charmer,” she said, her melodious, seductive voice dripping with hidden sarcasm. 

“And you were right; she is not quite that bad,” Loki responded, turning his new drink in hands as he leaned his elbows against the counter. “All we needed were…boundaries.” Mirage turned the same smile she’d given to Meg on him. Loki returned it with smug satisfaction.

“Okay…” Meg, apparently not completely blind, shot both of them suspicious glances. “Erik, I’d like to introduce you to some of my friends, if that’s okay.”

“Of course.” Loki pushed away from the counter and stood upright.

“Good,” Meg tried to pick up four full glasses. Loki, holding his own, grabbed two of them. “Thanks. Mirage, will you join us?”

Loki glanced heavenward. 

“Thank you dear, but,” Mirage’s gaze shifted. “I believe a client of mine has just come in. If you’ll excuse me.” She stood and sauntered towards the door.

Meg jerked her head with a smile. “We’re over this way.”

Loki followed the petite girl to a small round table with three other young women clustered around it and looking at them expectantly.

“Who’s your friend, McCoy?” the dark-skinned one with sleek, long black hair asked.

“This is Erik. He goes to Purchase. Erik,” Meg set a drink down in front of the empty seat, then introduced the others as she gave them theirs, lifting the glasses from Loki’s grasp. “This is Abby,” blonde, “Christy,” wildly curly brown, “and Delilah.” black.

Loki nodded with each introduction. “It’s a pleasure,” he lied. The three young women glanced at each other and giggled.

“Dude, I like your tattoos,” Delilah said as Abby leaned back and yanked an empty chair from another table. Loki sat down in between her and Meg with a small smile. “Where’d you get ‘em?”

She admired the markings. Stupid girl. “A friend of mine,” Loki lied. “A long time ago.”

“Does he live around here? I might want to see him.” Delilah peered at his face.

“Germany, actually,” said Loki, pulling on one of the few Midgardian province names he knew. 

“Oh.” Delilah sounded disappointed.

“It looks like it’s glowing,” Abby observed.

“It’s deceptively reflective,” Loki lied again, wishing the mortals would become interested in something else.

“Hey, is it on your hand too?” Christy leaned forward across the table. Loki, thinking if he indulged their curiosity it might go away, held up his palm so she could see. “Does it go all the way down your body like that, on one side?” 

Now he really wished they would change the subject. “Yes.”

Christy gave him a somewhat wicked smile. “Take off your shirt so I can see?”

Before Loki had time to react, both Abby and Delilah whacked her. Meg put her face in her palm and moaned.

“Christy, lay off!” Abby snorted in disgust. 

Christy raised her hands in surrender, still grinning. “Sorry, I see a cute guy and I can’t resist.” Loki raised an eyebrow. “What, didn’t you know you were hot?”

“I have never been paid that particular…compliment before,” Loki said, sipping at his drink. He didn’t feel the burning anger he had towards the prostitute, only a tickling irritation. Stupid girl.

“ANYway,” Meg interrupted, glaring Christy into silence. “Abby, he’s majoring in lit, like you.”

“Is that so?” Abby smiled at him.

The rest of the evening passed in relative small chit-chat, the conversation often going on wild bends to topics that Loki didn’t understand; all about actors and fashions and jerks and pop artists and entertainment. When this happened he sat in silence, listening and storing away the random bits of Midgardian culture. It never stayed that way for terribly long; Meg often steered the conversation back until Loki joined in again. The drinks kept coming, and everyone except Abby and Loki became a little tipsy. Christy soon wandered off to flirt and didn’t return, Delilah’s male companion came and took her away, and Abby excused herself, saying that unlike some people she needed a few hours of sleep before classes began.

“Few hours?” Loki sat up, alarmed. “What time is it?”

“Uhm…” Meg fumbled in her pocket and brought out a cellular phone, squinting at the screen. “Lookslike…four?”

“In the morning,” Loki confirmed.

“Uh-huh.” 

Loki cursed under his breath and stood.

Meg’s eyes went wide. “You going?”

“Yes, I—someone is expecting me.”

“Okay,” Meg stood, swayed a little bit, and grabbed at the table. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, and when she opened them she looked mostly sober. “Will you come back Wednesday night? I know it’s not a weekend, but I don’t have classes Thursday morning, so…”

“I don’t know,” Loki said. “I may not be able to get away.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll wait for you then.” Meg sat back down heavily, and Loki hurried back to the Tower.

His absence had not been noticed.

ɤ

A few nights later, as Loki walked down the street, a figure raised her hand and waved from further down the sidewalk, the ends of a green scarf fluttering in the wind. “Hey!” Meg ran towards him, smiling, and pulling a cord from her ear. “See you inside, okay?”

“Actually,” Loki glanced over his shoulder. “Would you mind going somewhere else? I believe there’s a restaurant down the street.”

Meg raised her eyebrows. “Uh…” she laughed a little, and looked towards the bar. “Sure, I guess. For a few minutes anyway. Where did you want to go?”

Loki pointed. “There…Baskin’ Robins?”

“Yum,” Meg darted across the street, causing cars to honk. Loki followed. She put her hands in her pockets. “In the mood for ice cream, then?”

“Yes,” Loki said, unsure what ice cream was like, but thinking that he was likely to enjoy something with the word “ice” included in its title.

They squeezed their way into the crowded shop. “Cookie dough sundae sounds good to me,” Meg mused, talking loudly to be heard over the babble. The wires were back in her ears. “What are you getting?”

“What do you suggest? I haven’t eaten here before.” Loki looked at the menu, at a loss.

Meg looked up at him, quizzical, but only for a moment. “Try something simple then,” she suggested. “Like a chocolate fudge cone.”

Loki took her advice as they finally made their way up to the counter. They grabbed their sweet treats and found a vacated corner. The crowd dense, Meg’s shoulder pressed against his arm. Loki looked around him. The atmosphere here was much different than the bar; people of all ages were in here, from elders to children. Lots of children. A wailing baby. Loki twisted the cone in his hand.

Meg dug up a spoonful of the creamy substance and flipped it upside-down on her tongue. “What are you waiting for?” 

Loki didn’t answer. He saw a young person eating an ice cream cone; simply licking it off. Loki wished he’d chosen something a little more dignified; at least Meg had a spoon, as unglamorous as plastic was. He brought the treat close to his face, feeling the cold radiating off of it, and tentatively stuck out his tongue. It was sweet, and refreshingly chilled. After a few tries, Loki got the hang of it, and found he could eat it without sticking out his tongue like a snake’s, thank the Norns for that. He glanced at Meg and shrugged his shoulder, breaking the physical contact. Meg leaned against the wall, bobbing her head oddly, tapping one foot against the floor. She looked up and saw him staring at her.

“Sorry,” she grinned, taking the wires from her ears again. “I guess that’s rude.”

“What is that?” Loki asked.

“This?” Meg gave him that strange look again, holding up the rectangular device with the two wires in her hand. “Uh…an iPod?”

“Well, yes.” Loki smiled, hiding his irritation at asking a question that he clearly should have known the answer to. “I wondered what type.”

“Apple iPod Touch, 8G,” she replied, taking another bite of her desert.

“May I see it?”

Meg gave him another strange look, but handed it over. 

“I’ve never owned one,” Loki said before she could ask. “I’m looking into the best brands.”

“This one’s old,” Meg said. “There’s an Apple store down on 43rd. It should have the newest releases.”

Loki nodded, and examined the device as he finished his cone, figuring out its inter-workings, how it played music. An idea came to him.

Meg poked his arm. “Why are you smiling like that?” 

Loki just handed it back. “I need some ideas.”

“For what?” Meg twisted one of her stud earrings.

“Low quality artists.”

“Huh?”

“Who are some unpopular music artists?” 

Meg looked thoroughly bewildered. “Oh, I dunno…Justin Bieber, Rebecca Black, Miley Cirus, Britney Spears…why?” She leaned back and half-quirked her lips upward. “You’re up to something. Should I be worried?”

“Oh, no. Not you,” Loki said vaguely. “Shall we go?”

ɤ

Steve stood flipping through a debriefing file, balancing his laptop on one arm. He filled in the blanks, the steps taken, the results, the current contracts agreed upon—procrastinating, actually. He sometimes wished these tricky responsibilities didn’t fall down on him. People asked him if he was sure he’d made the right choice; he usually said yes. He usually didn’t know. Especially now, if they were starting to unravel from the inside. He didn’t want to do this.

_“YOU KNOW YOU LOVE ME.”_

Sound blared from nowhere. Steve jumped. The laptop slid out of his hands and crashed to the floor.

_“I KNOW YOU CARE. JUST SHOUT WHEREVER AND I’LL BE THERE.”_

Steve grimaced as the music banged up against his eardrums and throbbed in his head. He automatically retrieved the laptop and set it on the table. The screen had blanked out. He’d have to get Tony to help him retrieve the information. He hoped he’d just broken the screen, and not the entire computer.

Despite the thunderous sound filling the room from nowhere, Steve still managed to hear a voice from several rooms away.

“WHAT the HELL?”

_“LIKE BABY, BABY, BABY NO!”_

Steve resisted the strong urge to cover his ears with his hands and went out, wincing. “Tony?” he couldn’t hear his own voice, but he still somehow heard Tony’s.

“PEPPER! WHERE THE HELL!”       

Steve gave up and plugged his ears, knowing that while Tony was thus occupied any questions would be ignored. The music continued to go until the song ended, where there was a few seconds of silence. Then:

_“I HOPPED OFF THE PLANE AT LAX WITH A DREAM AND MY CARDIGAN.”_

Steve took his fingers out of his ears and this time heard a collective moan (scream?) of despair. Natasha came down the hallway, fast, her face as impassive as ever. She stopped for a moment, giving Steve a raised eyebrow, and then going on just as quickly.

“Where are you going?” Steve hollered.

“Outside,” she called back, still impassive, and disappeared around a bend. Steve decided to venture into the room where the chaos seemed to be centered.

“CAN’T YOU JUST KILL THE WHOLE PA SYSTEM?” Pepper screamed, grimacing as she balanced a huge stack of papers on one arm and held a wad of cables in the other while Tony tore into a panel in the wall.

“THEN WE COULDN’T FIND OUT WHERE IT’S COMING FROM!” Tony hollered back. 

“I’M REALLY STARTING TO NOT CARE!” Pepper gave Steve a pained, but grateful, look as he took the papers from her and plopped them on the desk.

_“SO CHILLIN IN THE FRONT SEAT, IN THE BACK SEAT, I’M DRIVIN’, CRUISIN’, FAST LANES, SWITCHING LANES”_

Tony fumbled with an iPad, plugging cables into its side. He swiped his fingers across the screen in complicated patterns, stopped, stared. “THAT VLADIMIR PUTIN WANNA-BE!”

 _“PARTYIN’, PARTYIN’, YEAH!_ ”

Tony reached back into the wall and keyed in a sequence. The music stopped so suddenly that the silence roared in Steve’s ringing ears.

“What was it?” Pepper asked in a too-loud voice.

“Our resident Mao Zedong!” Tony hopped down from the chair and rushed from the room.

“Loki? How did he manage to hack the PA system?” Pepper ran after him. Steve, procrastinating again, and kind of amused, followed.

“My guess is we’ll go up there and find a stolen iPod. Someone has a lot of explaining to do.”

“Over how the PA system is hack-able?”

“Over why anyone on this team would have such trash on their iPod.” 

Tony did something to the elevator that made it shoot up twice its normal speed. “You sure you want to see this, Cap? It’s gonna be ugly.”

Steve just chuckled, gripping the handles on the walls as his insides were left behind. He preferred stairs. The elevator slowed and opened to shadowy darkness.

“It would appear your Tower is not as indestructible as you boast, Stark,” Loki’s voice came from inside. It took Steve only a moment to spot him, glowing blue on one of the couches.

“I’m the one who cut your power,” Tony said, switching on a flashlight and walking boldly around the elevator. Pepper and Steve glanced at each other and followed like obedient puppies.

“Really? How rude of you,” Loki didn’t move.

“Not as rude as stealing. Whose was it? Pepper.” 

Pepper took Tony’s flashlight and held it for him as he slid open more panels.

“Excuse me?” Loki didn’t cooperate.

“You’re not excused. You had to get that music from somewhere. Whose music-holding device did you steal?”

“My, my, Stark. You are one to jump to conclusions.” Loki sounded almost cheerful. “I stole nothing.” 

“Says the God of Lies.” Tony swung the panel shut and marched across the wide room again.

“I may lie about many things, but I am no thief.”

“Except when it comes to glowing blue boxes.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed. “The Tesseract never belonged to you.”

“Ah-ha!” Tony got onto his knees behind the counter. “So here’s where you hacked in—but—” he stood back up and put one hand on the counter, glaring in Loki’s direction.

“If I have such a thing, I am certainly not going to tell you where it is,” Loki said.

“Fine.” Tony got back down and yanked a few plugs. “I’ll just fry this floor’s PA permanently then. Your own fault.”

“I will be sure to grieve the loss of something I never used in the first place,” said Loki dryly. Tony just grunted in response, and the lights flickered back on. Tony blinked several times, then looked up. Loki held up his index finger. Tony rolled his eyes.

Steve had no idea what the private conversation meant, but he knew he couldn’t put off his reluctant duty any longer, and didn’t spend the time to find out. “Okay then, kids,” he said, clapping his hands together once, and giving Tony an amused smile that Tony didn’t return. “You work out your differences. I’ll be downstairs where the real issues are.”

“Real issues? Maybe you’d like to spend a day holding down the fort?” 

He couldn’t be serious, could he? Who did he think held down the fort day to day? Steve held down the urge to laugh and put a hand on Tony’s shoulder.  “Pass the third grade of Maturity School and I might take you up on that offer.”

Tony waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Meh, maturity. It doesn’t create arc reactors from scrap metal. Maturity’s boring.”

“Which is why I’m captain and not you,” Steve said, slapping his shoulder.

“Would you two just kiss and be done with it?” Loki called over in a bored tone as he rested his forehead against his fingers. 

Steve jerked his hand back and glared, cursing himself for…forgetting that Loki was in the room. How had he managed that? “That’s not funny.”

Tony kept his composure much better, his tone smooth. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. Pepper’s standing right here.” 

Steve reminded himself that Loki knew exactly how to unsettle him, and would speak accordingly. He made a mental note to stay away from all friendly banter in his presence.

Outwardly, Steve regained his professional attitude. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me,” he said to his two friends. As he left, he thought he saw Loki raise two fingers, and Tony glare. 

Steve went back to the collective office, and then remembered that his laptop had blanked out. He pressed the power button, and after some whirs and ticks that he knew it didn’t normally do, the screen blinked back into life with a short beep. Steve found the appropriate file, and asked JARVIS to convey a message. Loki’s quip was an appropriate reminder, Steve thought glumly. With Loki here, nothing could function normally. Messy situations came up, like this one. Things he had to deal with.

 _God, please let me be doing the right thing._ He prayed, as he checked himself for professionalism and leadership. One wrong step, too long of a hesitation, and everything could explode.

“You wanted to see me, sir _.”_

Steve stood up. “Yes, Agent Barton.” Clint stood in the doorway, completely geared up, full quiver and bow in hand and all as if—he’d known this was coming.         “Please come in.” Clint took a full two steps inside and stopped again. Steve let it go. “Miss Romanov has informed me of the incident that took place a few days ago between you and Loki.”

“Yes sir.” 

Steve nodded, and looked down at his laptop. “There’s a situation in Chechnya; the U.S. Military has been tipped off that there’s a terrorist attack planned sometime in the next month. They’ve requested backup.”

“Am I on probation, sir?” Clint asked flatly.

Steve gave up the pretense of military commander, shutting his laptop with a sigh. He placed his hands on the counter and looked the soldier in the eye. “No, Clint. Chechnya is a real crisis. But under the circumstances, you’re the best man for the job. Will you take it?”

A long, uncomfortable silence stretched out between them as Clint looked him in the eye. “Yes sir,” he said at last, in the same flat tone, running his hand down his bow. Steve wished he didn’t have such an impenetrable mask. 

“Okay,” Steve nodded, opened the laptop, typed. “If you leave in the morning, you can get to the base that will fly you to Chechnya early afternoon.”

“If it’s all the same to you, sir,” Clint said, “I’d rather leave now.” 

Steve blinked. “Now?”

“I can get to the base this evening and spend the night there,” he said, calmly. “I wouldn’t be in the way here.”

“You’re not—” Steve began.

“Now that you’re aware of what I did, you would be required to keep an eye on me,” Clint interrupted. “It would be better for everyone if I just leave now.”

Steve looked at him for a long time. “If that’s what you want,” he said at last. He looked back down and typed a few more things. “All right. They’re expecting you, Agent Barton.”

“Thank you, sir.” 

“Dismissed.”

Clint gave a stiff bow and left. Steve sank down in the chair and rubbed his eyes. It could have gone better, it could have gone worse. He just hoped the results, at the very least, followed the same pattern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately for Steve, things are not about to get better. Stay tuned! Break time’s over. A buncha number two is about to go down.
> 
> Also, yes. Loki’s disguise is basically Tom Hiddleston (though, unfortunately, he doesn’t exist in this universe. Sadness.). I couldn’t resist. The opportunity was too perfect. XD
> 
> Thanks all of you for hanging with me and for all the encouragements. I’m excited for next week! *bounces*  
> ~caramell


	8. Crumble

“You didn’t come last night.” 

Loki glanced at Meg as she stared straight ahead, her arms crossed over her chest. The wind whipped against them as they waited for the crosswalk sign to change. Rain drizzled down, and Loki did his best to ignore the steady, annoying dampening of his clothes.

“You said you’d come. I waited for you,” she stressed, lips puckered in an angry pout. 

“Yes, I know,” Loki replied, watching the red glow of the lights reflect off the wet pavement. “I apologize. My professor wished to speak to me, and it escalated until I could not get away.”

Meg let out a short, scornful laugh.

Loki raised one eyebrow as he leaned back, rocking on his heels. “You did not have to wait,” he said, annoyed. “Unexpected occurrences at my university are common.”

Meg sighed and shook her head, smiling, the tension falling from her like an unclasped cloak. The light changed and they crossed the street. “Give me a break. You don’t go to Purchase.”

Loki wondered what he had missed. “I beg your pardon?” 

“You don’t go to Purchase,” Meg repeated. “You don’t go to college—or ‘university’ as, you call it.” Loki had no idea what had prompted her sudden flip-flop on her opinions of his lifestyle. He just looked at her. She smiled at him. “You don’t have to lie to me, Erik. I know you’re part of a cult.”

Loki blinked. “A…cult,” he repeated. She nodded. Loki stopped walking and closed his eyes, considering the new possibilities this might unleash. He decided to play along. “How did you know?”

“I’ve known for a long time. Or, at least suspected it,” Meg said, grabbing his elbow and tugging him forward. They entered the café, escaping the cursed rain. “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out. You talk like an eighteen-century English Lord, you have no concept of basic cultural norms, your hair hasn’t been cut for ages, you didn’t know what an iPod, iPad, meme, .gif, major, or other things were, you have this extreme, bizarre tattoo, and you always worry about getting ‘back’ on time and mysteriously miss get-togethers because of escalating talks with professors. You’re sneaking out, aren’t you? You aren’t supposed to interact with normal people.”

Loki took all of that in. According to Meg, he could not act like a Midgardian. Thank the Norns. “No,” he said simply.

“Could you get in trouble if you’re found out?”

Loki hesitated. “Yes.”

Meg gave a cheery wave at a waiter. “Well, you’re secret’s safe with me. Now stop pretending to be normal. Let’s eat.”

Was that it? The waiter showed them to a little table and they ordered.

“So,” Meg took a bite of her sandwich. “Do you actually live in NYC, or do you sneak in from outside?”

“I live in it.” Loki fingered his glass.

Meg glanced up at him. “Were you here last summer?”

Loki had to resist his black sense of humor to keep from looking amused. “Yes.” He paused. “Were you?”

Meg looked back down. “No.” She stabbed her fork into her green beans. “I was on vacation. My boyfriend was killed. So was my aunt and three of my younger cousins.”

“I’m sorry.” 

He wasn’t.

She still didn’t look at him. She kept stabbing at the green beans without eating anything. Her voice seemed to have left her. Loki said nothing. At last she drank some of the brown, bubbly liquid in her own glass and managed, “What about you?”

“What about me?”

Meg blinked rapidly and swallowed before trying again. “Did you—lose anyone?”

Loki tapped the edge of his plate with his empty fork. “My brother,” he said quietly. He started with surprise when Meg’s hand suddenly gripped his from across the table.

What in Helheim had possessed him to say that?

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Tears trembled in her eyes. 

“So am I,” he returned. After a moment, Loki collected himself and drew his hand back. “What do you think of him?” he asked.

“Who?”

“Loki.”

Meg leaned back in her chair, not meeting his eyes. “I wonder,” she began, “Why? What did he do it for _?_ This is our home. It’s not like he couldn’t survive without us. Why—come in like that, disrupt everything, kill so many…did he really think we’d accept him?”

“In time, perhaps,” Loki responded. “After his improvements. After he stopped wars and ruled as one king over one people.”

Meg looked at him ferociously. “How can you _say_ that? He and his goons slaughtered us!”

“Because we resisted,” Loki said, deadpan.

Meg stood up, both hands on the table. “Erik! You’re not—”

“Of course not,” Loki leaned back and crossed his arms, looking across the room at nothing. “What did you think?”

“Sorry,” Meg sank back down, put her face in her hand, and cried. 

_Sentiment._

She collected herself again, wiping her eyes. “Let’s talk about something else. What exactly is your cult?”

“You have never heard of it,” Loki said. “The less you know, the better.”

Meg wrinkled her nose. “Why?”

“It just is.”

“Are they—you—whoever—dangerous?”

“Sometimes.” 

“What about to you? Since you’re sneaking out?”

“Yes.”

Meg’s mouth dropped open. “They could hurt you?”

“Yes,” Loki shrugged. 

“That’s got to be illegal. How old are you anyway? We can call the police and report it!”

“No!” Loki exclaimed, grasping her wrist. “You must not. They would trace it back to me.”

“How?” Meg pulled her wrist away. “You won’t even be reporting it. I won’t say your name. I’ll be anonymous. How could they possibly trace it back to you?”

“They have their ways.” Loki leaned back in his chair again and crossed his arms. “No police.”

Meg glared at him. “They’ll just oppress you until you report it, Erik. You could get police protection.”

“Believe me, that would be worse.” Loki leaned back forward and began to eat. The conversation veered into other directions.

ɤ

Loki paced in the room. The tastes of freedom tantalized and mocked him. He wished to be out now. Going out didn’t help him think. It only made this room unbearable, twisting his every thought into a single burning desire to leave. Here, his own fate slid between his fingers. Away, he could at least control what he wished to do. He was being stretched to the breaking point.

“Loki,” Thor tramped into the room.

Loki forced himself to stop pacing. He clasped his hands behind his back and didn’t turn to look at Thor. “What do you want?”

“You seem restless,” Thor said, clapping Loki on the shoulder. Loki shook him off and stepped away. “I have come to invite you downstairs. Surely you have seen the comfortable recreation center that we enjoy in the evenings.”

Yes, he had spent several hours in there himself. Loki glanced at him in disbelief. “Invite me downstairs,” he repeated. Thor nodded, grinning in obvious pleasure at what was surely Loki’s delight. “I did not expect to see treachery in you.”

Thor laughed. “Treachery! At what time did enjoying the company of my brother in unconfined conditions become treacherous?”

“Selfishness, then, since you would be the only one enjoying the event. I, and anyone else present, would be miserable.”

“Would you prefer I stay here, then?”

“I do not desire your company.”

“Loki, you fear company too much!” Thor clapped Loki’s back this time. Loki let out a small cough and stepped a safe distance away again.

“’Detest’ would be a more accurate representation of my sentiment.” Loki lowered himself onto the couch and leaned back.

“Aye, and dramatic,” Thor said, his voice thick with amusement. “Please, do not make me carry you. It would cause quite the scene.”

Loki sighed and glared at the stubborn Asgardian. “The others will never forgive you. And neither shall I.” 

ɤ

Pepper set up several glasses on the counter as she began mixing drinks, Natasha at her side. Thor swept into the room, beaming.

“Decided to join us, then, big guy?” Tony flipped a card in an over-dramatic gesture that made it shoot across the room and flutter to the floor.

Thor held up his hands. “Alas, Tony, I have no desire to be routed in your game again. But, I would like to make a request: I have found a surrogate, if you will kindly allow them to be my stand-in.”

“I thought—” Pepper began, and Tony interrupted with a snorting laugh.

“Jane’s worse at bluffing than you are.”

Pepper only had a split second to wonder at the self-satisfied smile—dare she call it smirk?—on Thor’s face. The next moment a thin figure all but flew into the room, hair picturesquely flying.

“Thor!” Loki snarled. “I did not agree to this!”

“Woah, woah, wait, wait, wait.” Tony jumped from his seat. Steve rose also, looking wary. Natasha tensed.

“Oh, come now! He’s only here on my invitation,” Thor said, beaming, and amused at the stir. “And he is incredibly adept at such pastimes as Poker.”

“Thor,” Loki hissed.

“He cheats,” Tony said.

“Tony!” Thor exclaimed, looking hurt. “How can you say such a thing? You have never played him!”

“Are you denying that the god of lies cheats?”

“Of course I cheat,” Loki said, still glaring at Thor. “So does everyone.”

“See? He admits it,” Tony said. “Horrified, Thor?”

Steve sat back down. Pepper stifled the urge to burst out laughing. Natasha still hadn’t moved, which meant she didn’t feel threatened.

“Of course he cheats,” Thor said. “He is brilliant.”

“At cheating?”

“Actually,” Loki broke in, forehead still creased and eyes smoldering. “I almost never cheat. I only do so when necessary, and it is rarely necessary.”

Pepper got out one more glass and filled it as well.

“Wow, arrogant, much?” Tony shot at him, and then went back to Thor. “So why didn’t you acknowledge that he cheats? Insulting your honor or something?”

“Something,” Thor confirmed. “It is terribly impolite.”

Loki rolled his eyes and sighed, stepping between them. “On Asgard,” he said in a lecturing tone of voice. “The only rule is that you appear to be playing by the rules. Unless caught in the act, to suggest otherwise leads to a brawl.”

“That’s the unspoken word here, too,” Pepper called as she picked up the tray of drinks and came over. “Tony just doesn’t want to admit it.”

“What!” Tony drew himself up. “I am a hero of New York City! A member of the Avengers! To do such an act would—”

Pepper shoved him aside and set down the tray, shoving the cards into the middle of the table. “Tony, you cheat.”

“Well, yeah, I was trying to be Asgardian,” Tony said. Loki quirked an eyebrow at him. “The only person who doesn’t cheat is Spangles here.”

“Believe what you like, Tony,” Steve said quietly. Tony stared at him.

“No way…”

“In any case,” Thor interrupted. “He has only lost one game in many a century.”

“And that,” Loki muttered. “Was because you stood behind me and gave away my hand.”

“His excellent poker face strikes again,” Tony said sarcastically, flopping into one of the chairs.

“Precisely.” Loki remained standing.

“Come on, Brother, please!” Thor pleaded. “I will sit on the other side and observe as the others will!”

“Here, Loki,” Pepper said simply and she clunked the glass she’d made for him (totally guessing what he’d like) on the seat in front of him.

Tony cracked his knuckles. “I feel up to the challenge. Have a seat, I’ll explain, and then you can break the rules to your heart’s content. Just don’t blame me when I blast you through the wall.”

Loki gave a few more glares for good measure, and then pulled out a chair and sat down as Tony sped over the rules of Poker in a slipshod manner. His face became an absolutely shuttered, cut-off, almost glassy gaze. Poker Face Extreme. Natasha stood with Thor as they both watched from a distance. 

Tony cracked his knuckles again, took a swig, and cut the deck.

“I would feel much more comfortable if you would allow me to shuffle,” Loki said blandly.

Tony burst out laughing. “Let you shuffle? Do you think I’m crazy?” He paused. “Is this where I’m supposed to explode in offended honor?”

Loki leaned back in his chair, glass in hand, and gave him an empty stare. “I am already giving a token of good faith by allowing us to use another man’s deck. Especially yours.”

“Well, you’re not shuffling,” Tony declared, slapping the cut deck back together.

“I would consider breaking the stalemate by allowing Miss Potts to shuffle,” Loki said, still in the deadpan voice.

“Pepper’s a terrible shuffler—”

Pepper lifted the cards out of Tony’s hands. “Which makes me perfect for the job, doesn’t it?” she said, still having a hard time keeping from laughing. She made a very messy job of shuffling, but there was no way she could have stacked the deck. She dealt out the hands and placed the deck in the middle of the table.

Loki played in mostly silence. If he was cheating, Pepper couldn’t see how. Her hand started terribly and continued terribly. So did her playing. Oh well, someone had to be the scapegoat if Thor didn’t play. Halfway through, Pepper noticed how Loki wasn’t touching his drink. She gestured for Natasha to take her turns for her while she made Loki a cup of tea. Remembering the report from Tony, she put in way too much sugar that a cup of tea ought to contain and took it to him.

Loki only glanced up at her as she set it down, saying nothing. After his first sip, his eyes widened a little, and he looked at her again, both eyebrows rising. Then his mask returned and he finished the tea.

It soon became clear that Loki was winning by a landslide. Tony became very red in the face.

“Sir,” JARVIS interrupted. “’The Lady Sif’ has requested an audience with Thor.”

Thor stood. Loki froze, mid-play, one hand suspended in the air. His knuckles grew white and the card creased.

“The who?” Tony asked.

“She is a friend of mine,” Thor said. “She is here, JARVIS?”

“By all means, let her in,” Tony said. “But, uh, stall her first.” He looked at Loki, who hadn’t moved. 

“She is already in, and is on her way up,” JARVIS said.

“WHATWHYHOWDIDSHEGETIN?” Tony hollered.

“She teleported in directly,” JARVIS said.

“Loki,” Pepper picked up his dishes. “Do you have the magic to turn invisible?”

“No,” he said calmly.

“Then what are you going to do?” she asked.

Loki stood and walked to the far end of the room, behind a large couch. He turned to face them. “Hide,” he said, and sat down. 

ɤ

Loki felt a deadly calm. He sat cross-legged, leaning over so that his head remained concealed beneath the top of the couch. A minute passed where he heard chairs shuffling and Pepper rinsing his glasses at the sink. A door opened. Chairs scooted as Steve rose, and Tony followed suit. 

“Sif!”

“Thor.”

Loki went cold as he stared at the light brown wall a few feet from his face.

“This is a treasured surprise!” Thor bellowed happily. “Allow me to introduce you to my friends: Tony, Natasha, Steve, and Pepper. Clint is on a mission elsewhere, and Jane and Bruce are working on a project. Everyone, this is a childhood friend of mine, the Lady Sif.”

“It’s an honor and a pleasure to meet you, Lady Sif,” Steve said.

“The same here as well,” Sif answered. It was strange to hear her voice. He had not seen her since he had dismissed her and the Warriors Three when he sat on the throne of Asgard. He had not seen any of them. They had seen him, probably. Sif would not miss the taste of victory over her long-fought opponent. Loki dug his fingernails into the skin of his cheeks. “Thor, I am afraid this is not merely a cordial visit. The Allfather requests your presence on Asgard.” Loki frowned.

“Very well. We shall traverse there in the morning,” Thor said. “In the meantime, we—”

“Actually, Thor, he wants you to come now.”

Dead silence.

“Now?”

“Now.”

A senseless, overwhelming desire to see her gripped him. Loki turned onto his hands and knees and cast himself invisible. He peered out from hiding place. His jaw and throat tightened in fury and—the strangeness of seeing her again. She wore her armor, standing very straight, her black hair falling down her back.   

Loki set his jaw.

“Is all well?” Thor asked, worry in his tone.

“Oh, yes,” Sif’s easy tone broke the uncomfortable tension. “There is only an ambassador of another Realm who is pressed for time. The matter itself is not urgent, but the Allfather would like you present.”

“Oh, I see,” Thor sounded relieved. 

Loki wasn’t. Lies did not fool a liar. 

He couldn’t stand the sight of her. Loki pulled back into the shadow and dropped the invisibility.

“How long should this trip last?” Thor asked. “Usually, we make a few preparations for my absence, so—”

“Very little time,” Sif said. “You should be back tomorrow morning.”

“Then I suppose…my friends, is there anything of import that is to come?”

“Not that we know of,” Steve said. “Let’s just not trumpet it around that you’re suddenly gone. A few hours should be fine.”

“Then we shall go,” Thor said. “I will see you in the morning. Say farewell to Jane and the—others for me.”

A few more polite nothings and they left the room. 

ɤ

An awkward silence descended over the room. Pepper looked over to Loki’s hiding spot and found him already standing, leaning on one hand that rested on the back of the couch, looking at the door with a furrowed forehead.

“Uh, Loki, Thor says ‘farewell’,” Tony said. 

“Is this usually the manner with which Odin summons Thor?” Loki said, still frowning.

“No,” Steve said. “Well, he only did twice before, when they had decided—you know, and when you went missing. He sent servants then.”

“Do you think there’s something wrong?” Pepper asked.

Loki blinked and straightened, his hand hanging by his side. “No,” he said with a shrug. “Chances are Sif merely wanted Thor to herself.”

That was a strange comment. Loki’s movement seemed stiff as he headed to the door.

“Hey—” Tony started.

“Where are you going?” Steve finished.

“To my chambers. Excuse me.” Loki swept out of the room, the door thudding closed behind him.

“What was that all about?” Tony wondered aloud.

Natasha stood with her arms crossed, staring at the door as if expecting it to make a sudden, threatening move. Pepper began to gather up the other dishes. “Do you believe him?” 

The assassin didn’t move her gaze from the door. “I don’t know.” 

ɤ

_Time passed. The uproar died down, and outwardly palace life returned to normal. But inside Loki, the turmoil continued. His victory hadn’t fixed anything; it had made things worse. Before, it had been silent and private. Now, as he and Sif struggled and refused to be in one another’s presence, they were forcing Thor to choose. Loki knew Thor had to notice their open hostility, but he didn’t know whether Thor knew the reason. It was obvious to others, though. Fandrall, Hogun, and Valstagg made quip comments and gave him and Sif pointed looks that showed they knew the truth._

_Frigga already knew, of course, and her long, sad gaze tortured Loki whenever he was in her presence. He cringed inwardly, forced himself to act normal in all ways except Sif. But as months began to slip by, and Sif’s hair grew back, black and sleek, Loki began to be stretched to the breaking point. A growing pain came into his soul, and Thor began to ask him why he and Sif could not get along. If he waited much longer, Thor would realize why._

_There were talks among others as well, where criticism stabbed continually at him, and sympathy covered her. His victory was grinding him into the ground. Worst of all was Sif herself. Before, she had treated him as a middling acquaintance; now she didn’t acknowledge him at all, and for reasons he couldn’t understand, it tortured him. He realized that he was beginning to regret what he’d done. And that he was sorry._

_At last, he could stand it no longer. As he walked down a hallway one evening, deep in thought, he nearly ran into her as they both rounded the same corner from opposite directions. Sif slipped to the side without touching him and continued. Loki almost lost his balance. He stuck out a hand and braced himself against the wall, freezing and longing to disappear as he so often did now. Then he broke, bringing his hand down and turning._

_“Sif!” His voice croaked out of him and he forced his frozen body to run after her. “Sif, wait.” Sif stopped and turned back to face him, no hostility in her eyes. Only, if anything, boredom. She didn’t speak, looking up into his face with perfect calm. Loki felt much more out of breath than he should have for a short run down a deserted hallway._

_“Sif,” he repeated, feeling simultaneously sweltering and chilled. “Sif, I—I want to apologize.” The words slipped out like blood from a wound. “About your hair. I am sorry, and I hoped that you might—” Frigga had always told him an apology was never complete without a plea. “That you might—forgive me.”_

_Sif still showed no surprise. “Can you change it back?” she inquired._

_Loki hated the answer. “No. Yes. I mean—no, I can’t. Not really. I—I can try, but—it would not be the same.”_

_“Hm,” Sif cocked her head, smiling a little. Why did she seem so careless?_

_Loki flushed. “Would you—like me to try?”_

_“No,” she said, thoughtful. “Better leave it alone. Don’t feel too bad; I am starting to quite like it.” She ran a hand through the tresses and then shook them out, sending shivers down Loki’s back. “Anyway, that incident took place while we were children. Think nothing of it.” It had only been a few months._

_“All right,” Loki said, stupidly, unable to think of a reply. He needed to say something else, but he couldn’t while Sif continued down the corridor without him._

_“Oh,” she interjected, glancing back at him while she turned the corner. “And the answer is yes, I forgive you.”_

_Then she was gone._

_Something inside of Loki died that day. He stopped fighting. Sif had won the war. He could no longer bear the stares and the whispers and the biting remarks. Sif began speaking to him again, but it was as a superior to a pitiable outcast, which was worse than her silence. He gave replies only when necessary. Loki had protected himself, but given up others. He stopped trying to act as he had before the incident. He still spent time with Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three, but the desire for it depleted quickly, and so did the time spent. He grew reserved, spending long hours in his room, or in lonely places. He slipped out of doors by himself frequently. If Frigga’s, or anyone else’s gaze, made him uncomfortable, he simply left the room. He never suggested anything to Thor. If Thor invited him, he went. If not, he knew he wasn’t wanted and stayed behind. He avoided Frigga and the people who gave him accusatory stares._

_He accepted his assigned role in palace life: second to all others.  He withdrew into Asgard’s background, and Asgard withdrew into his. Competing was childish. He had his tongue to keep others at bay. He had his magic, and he had himself._

_He needed no one._

ɤ

Loki ran through New York City. He went first to the bar, then to the various restaurants at which he had eaten. He kept running even after he’d given up finding Meg McCoy. He ran in desperation, struggling to loose the tightness inside of him. Seeing Sif was only a reminder of how she, Thor, everyone—could just go off on a whim, while he remained, unable to go anywhere. Trapped. And something was wrong; something was wrong. He could feel it.

It didn’t matter where he was. Ever since Thor had first snapped those chains around his wrists he’d been trapped. He hadn’t escaped them since.

Loki finally went back to Stark Tower in the early hours of the morning, tired, and still angry, but less desperate. Yes, trapped for now, but he would find a way out. His intellect always had. He just had to wait.

The place seemed strangely quiet, Loki observed, as he entered his living space. He looked around, and saw that he must have slipped the spell that held his double in place. Damn. He was lucky that nobody had noticed. Loki went into the restroom, shed his invisibility, then came back out and sat down with a book he found sitting on the table.

All of five seconds later, the doors opened.

“Run the analysis again and see why the malfunction—” Tony stopped dead. Loki turned in his seat, holding his finger in the center of the book as if he had been reading all night. Tony and Pepper stood staring at him with their mouths open. Loki looked back at them with raised eyebrows.

Tony bounded across the floor and slapped Loki on the shoulder. Loki flinched back, glaring. 

“What is—”

“You BASTARD!” Tony hollered, grabbing his arm. “You’re coming with me! Downstairs! Now!”

“I beg your pardon?” Loki stood, but only because it seemed as though Tony was trying to pull his arm off.

“Downstairs!”

“Downstairs, Loki,” Pepper told him, and punched buttons on her cell-phone.

“Would you mind explaining to me while you are dragging me away from my reinforced floor?” Loki asked as Tony pulled him into the elevator.

“I think you know, Rudolph,” Tony snapped. “Now stay put!”

Pepper stepped into the elevator after them, speaking into her phone. “Natasha? We found him.”

Ah. So that was why his clone was missing. Loki sighed.

“Keep your complaints to yourself,” Tony snapped. “We’ve been tearing the city up looking for you.”

“Indeed?” Loki didn’t recall seeing a plethora of emergency and military vehicles.

“Discreetly,” Tony amended, glaring at him. “So that’s how far we can trust you? As soon as Thor leaves you try to give us the slip? Seems like you’d have to at least try to keep the trust of the one ally you have!”

Loki struggled to keep himself under control as he felt the same anger that he’d contained by running beginning to crop up again. It rent at his insides, searching for a way out. “And naturally, I came right back to my prison here?” Loki rolled his eyes. “Please, use the mind you claim to have, Stark. I leave this Tower many nights a week.”

Pepper stared at him. Tony just made a growling, grunt noise that indicated ‘I’m not surprised’. Loki crossed his arms and leaned against the wall until the elevator slowed and the doors came open. He walked out before Stark and Pepper, went over to one of Stark’s desk chairs, and sat down.

“Right. You stay put.” Stark pointed a finger at him. Loki raised his eyebrows and leaned back, clasping his hands together with both elbows resting on the arms of the chair. 

Stark pulled up his screens, facing Loki while he sifted through flashing images and files. Loki tuned out Pepper’s phone calls and Stark’s technobabble, staring at the ground, and feeling a tenseness begin growing in him. At first unnoticeable, but as the time passed, it became glaring and built in strength. It was unlike what he experienced earlier; that raging, burning frustration and fury. Now he felt a quiet restlessness that grew over the next hour with the rising of the sun. 

“Loki.”

He looked up at Captain Rogers.

“Mind telling me what you were doing out there?”

“Touring,” Loki said flatly. 

“You expect me to believe that?” Rogers demanded, his hold on his shield tightening.

“Of course not.”

“Of course not,” Rogers repeated. He pointed in Loki’s face, just as Stark had done. “Make no mistake, one more move like that and I’m calling it in.”

“Woah! Cap, hold on,” Stark interrupted, whizzing images out of the way and peering through the glass. “You sure about that?”

Power hummed across Loki’s skin, responding to the tight uneasiness in his mind. It flashed through, warning. His gaze lowered to his own hands as their grip on each other grew harder. A black void grew inside of his head, whirling and crushing. 

Sometimes his intellect didn’t give him the way out he wanted. But sometimes his instinct showed him the way out wasn’t necessary.

“Loki!” Rogers demanded his attention. Loki glanced up again. “You understand that if you make one more move, we’re reporting it to SHEILD. And they’ll be a lot less hospitable than us, let me tell you.”

“Yes. Quite.” And just like that, Loki was done. He stood up, looked at Rogers, Stark, and Pepper in turn. Then he turned and walked out.

“Hey!” 

Chaos followed him, the confused, petty humans. But without magic or illusions, Loki evaded them and simply walked out of the front doors of the tower and into the bustle of the morning rush. He paused at a side street, changed his appearance, and ran towards New York University.

ɤ

Loki walked into the libraries and over to a computer. He could feel the energy in the air, gathering like a storm cloud. He needed to find Meg, and her schedule should be locked inside the school’s system. He needed to hack the computer. He didn’t think any further than that; he simply sat down at the computer and began clicking and typing. When he came to a password-protected page, he touched the computer’s monitor and scrambled the codes so that it let him in. He found her classroom for Hist. 205, and went straight there. Through hallways, ignoring queries from a woman at a desk. He shoved open the door, and forty pairs of eyes turned to stare at him, except the professor who continued to speak. He found Meg in the crowd, who looked at him with a perplexed expression.

He still wasn’t thinking about what he was doing. But his instinct wouldn’t leave him alone. Screaming at him. He was losing control. He needed control.

“I need you,” Loki said, loudly. The professor cut himself off and turned, but Loki kept his gaze fixed on Meg.

“Can I help you?” the professor asked, looking annoyed.

“I need you _,_ ” Loki repeated.

Meg slowly shut her book. “Erik, what is—?” 

“Meg, I need you now.”

Realization came into Meg’s eyes. She nodded, and left her things at the desk, hurrying over to him.

“McCoy!” the professor huffed. “I’ll have to—”

Meg grabbed Loki’s arm and they left the room.

“They’ve found out,” Meg said flatly.

“Follow me,” Loki replied, and he led her down out of the building, which was thankfully near the edge of the campus. He led her away, out into the streets, to where the buildings began to grow tall again.

Meg stopped. “Erik, what’s going on? Where are we going? Have you called the police?”

All right, that was far enough. Loki jerked his head at an alleyway. “In here.”

She followed him into the lonely place. “Erik!”

Loki stopped and rubbed his face. “Meg.”

She came up behind him and touched his shoulders. “What?”

His whole life spun around him. He only stood in the center, watching it, remembering, regretting, desiring, hoping. Things had long since gone out of his control, and now, with magic struggling and adrenaline pumping, he longed for control, control, any sort of control over time and space. 

Loki turned around, yanked Meg close to him, bent over, and kissed her hard. Not deeply, but forcefully. Meg pulled back, eyes wide.

“Erik, what are—?”

He didn’t let her finish, grasping a fistful of her short hair and shoving her against the wall, kissing her again. He eased up for a moment before setting in again, slowly, passionately, deadly, keeping her pinned.

It took him a moment to realize that she was kissing him back. 

_No, no, this wasn’t how he meant it to work_.

She pushed up against him, eyes closed, taking it all in. Then her hands grasped his, guided them to—

Loki shoved her away, furious, cold rage flooding through him. Meg stared at him. “Erik, what do you want?” she asked.

Loki grinned; let every bit of poison show, covering up his despairing rage with a smirk. “My name is not Erik.” Meg’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t look concerned. “Now run.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Run,” Loki repeated.

“Why?” Meg’s eyes got wide. “Are they coming?”

Loki smiled again. “It’s quite simple,” he said smoothly, coming towards her again. Meg shrank back while he looked down at her. “You must run,” He let his disguise fall. Meg blinked several times, then her mouth came open and she blanched. Loki gave her several moments to understand. “Or I will kill you.”

Meg staggered backwards, making a whimpering noise in her throat. She tripped and fell, then stood up and fled. 

ɤ

Tony paused on a rooftop, glancing through the streets in a half-hearted glare. Loki wouldn’t be here, anyway. He’d be a couple galaxies away…or at least hidden well. 

“Sir.”

Tony caught sight of the fleeing woman, racing down the sidewalk as if a demon was after her. “See her,” he said. Perhaps she’d been mugged, or was being chased by thugs. Tony didn’t often have the opportunity for small-time good deeds. He flew up into the air and shot down the road in the opposite direction of the woman, determined to catch the whoever-they-weres from getting away. He banked into an alley and was diving before he recognized the person he was aiming for. He didn’t stop, even as Loki glanced up and tried to dive out of the way. Tony grabbed his arms and pulled him up with him, spiraling to the top of the nearest building and dropping him unceremoniously on the roof before landing himself, shoving his visor back.

“You bastard,” he said, for what now seemed like the umpteenth time. Loki picked himself up and dusted himself up, seeming to take no notice. “As if you could actually reach a new low. What did you do to that woman?”

Loki looked at him with what seemed genuine confusion. Tony wasn’t buying it.

“Well, I guess your appearance is enough to scare anyone’s socks off.” Tony pointed a finger at him. “You, big fella, are in big trouble. Just how many people have seen you while you’ve been carousing about town? You do realize that wasn’t the smartest thing to do, right?”

Loki closed his eyes, and Tony, startled, realized his hair was changing color. When Loki opened his eyes again, he looked completely different, barring the outlaw brands which shone as bright as ever.

“Impressive,” Tony conceded, beginning to get irritated with Loki’s silence. “Come with me, we’re going home. Steve is already getting a message together to send to Asgard.”

Loki stepped back, his appearance returning to normal, and spoke at last. “I’m not coming.”

Tony’s visor snapped back down and he charged his repulsers, aiming them at the demigod. “Oh yes, you are.”

Tony could never remember if it was he or Loki who made the first move. But his repulsers fired, and Loki slid out of the way and was suddenly next to him. Tony shot up into the air and fired again. The beam seemed to hit Loki, but the next moment, the light came whizzing back at him. He spun out of the way, losing altitude. Loki leapt up and grabbed one of his shoes, spinning him again. Tony landed and landed an armored punch on the back of Loki’s head. Loki fell, bounced up and scooted back, landing in a crouch. Tony spat out a message on the radio.

“I’ve found him and he’s resisting! I need backup, we’re—Jarvis, where are we?”

“They will not come,” Loki said. 

“What are you talking about?” Tony demanded while Jarvis relayed the address.

“I am no longer your biggest problem,” Loki said. He paused. “You may want to get back to your tower.”

Those words froze Tony’s blood. “What are you talking about? What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Loki said, his gaze wandering over Tony’s shoulder. “That was my biggest mistake. I did nothing.”

Loki shot upwards so quickly that Tony didn’t comprehend the movement until Loki was already flipping through the air over his head. Tony spun around, the repulsers charging up again, but he stopped in astonishment to find Loki with his arms clamped around the neck of—a Chitauri warrior. Loki, his grasp crushing the warrior as it staggered backward, swung his body around, snapping the warrior’s head to the side with an audible crack. He jumped up as the Chitauri fell. 

Tony had no time to absorb this before a blow that nearly knocked him to the ground, and hurt despite the suit. He spun around and shot his repulsers into the Chitauri’s midsection. The next moment, Chitauri warriors surrounded the two of them, and Tony fought without giving a thought to Loki—but there were too many, and more, and—what was wrong with his suit? they were strong, they were much, much too strong—he was knocked to the ground.

A brilliant flash of light, and they all fell. Tony struggled back to his feet. Loki stood in a wide stance, close to the ground, both hands outspread. His eyes wide and firm, he looked Tony.

“Thor. You must find him and tell him to find me.”

“You bastard! You CAN do magic!”

Loki grimaced and gave Tony a look of pure fury. “You must find Thor and tell him to find me.”

“Why?” Tony glowered. “If it’s a choice between fighting off another Chitauri army and simply handing you over, I’d go for the latter.”

“No you would not,” Loki said.

“Why not?” 

“Do you really wish to show the Nine Realms that you were hiding me from them? Universal politics are a messy business. Who knows what they will unleash upon you to satisfy their rage.”

Tony opened his mouth and shut it again. “You bastard,” was all he could manage.

“You had better hope nobody finds me on this planet at all,” Loki confirmed. “Tell Thor.” 

“You bastard. How will he know where to look?”

“Tell him to find me where I always am,” Loki responded. 

Tony nodded. “Now run, you bastard.” He rose into the air and shot off towards the tower as fast as his thrusters could push him.

ɤ

Under normal circumstances, the fervor of battle wiped out every non-war-like thought; concentration increased a hundredfold, which increased the deadliness a hundredfold. Under normal circumstances, a sneak attack provoked this hyper-concentration even more.

But now, Thor could not understand. It didn’t make sense. He felt as though he were replaying history as he spun through the air, striking Chitauri, while the screams of the New Yorkians gradually faded as people began the drills of last summer, getting to the subways and fleeing the city. He felt extreme waves of gratitude to the Higher Power for allowing Loki to escape, so that he wasn’t now trapped in the tower. 

But he could not understand where the Chitauri came from. There was no portal in the sky; they merely streamed out from everywhere, as if hidden in the bricks and pavement. And they were strong; too strong. Thor could barely keep them at bay when he fought one-on-one. This wasn’t right. 

Tony whizzed up next to him, and helped him dispatch the three that attacked him from all sides, and then he said in a low, metallic voice, “Loki needs to talk to you. He is where he always is.”

Thor blinked, his stomach giving a sickening lurch. He’d hoped Loki had been able to get out somehow—unless his magic still hurt him. “Where is that?” he asked, striking another warrior down.

Tony cursed.  “He seemed to think you’d know.” He spun around and they fought back-to-back for a few moments. Then, seeming to know Thor wasn’t wearing his earpiece, said, “Message from Cap. Short-term plan is to keep these things distracted until the city clears.”

Thor called Mjolnir back to his hand. “Thank you. I will find him.” 

Tony nodded and dove down. Thor rose into air, fighting Chitauri as he went, and desperately trying to think. He is where he always is? Why should Thor understand that? Was it a mistake?

No. Loki wouldn’t have given that guarded message unless he knew Thor would figure it out. But why a guarded message? Was he afraid Tony would turn him in? Probably. 

He was where he always was. Where was Loki, always? His room in Asgard was the first thing that came to Thor’s mind, because if he went looking for Loki in past years, he always looked in his room first. But it couldn’t be a physical place that he “always was”, because he couldn’t be there now. Could he? Was he in Asgard? Or perhaps his room in Stark tower? But he would not remain there…

An echo of Loki’s voice snarled in his head. 

_ THINK, Thor! _

Where was his brother always? 

_ “Alone is where I always am!” _

Thor’s flight staggered a little at the memory, and ideas flashed on him. Where was Loki always?

Alone. Hidden. Everywhere.

He could never escape his little brother when he most wished too, and it had caused many headaches in the past. An expert eavesdropper, he heard all the conversations meant to be hidden from him. Loki always seemed to know everything, to always be everywhere at the right time.

Loki was here. Right here.

Thor looked down, casting his gaze about the buildings below him, and his gaze settled on a low shop with darkened windows. An itching, tingling sensation washed over his hand. Thor looked at it in time to see a faint outline of a bird that vanished the moment he set his eyes upon it. Thor flew towards the shop in a spiraling circle that slowly brought him closer. He rounded to the back, broke a lock and entered the shop, calling in a loud whisper.

“Brother?”

“Thor.” Loki came forward, scars glowing in the dim light, his voice harsh. “What happened?”

“I do not know,” Thor said. “I arrived nigh on twenty-minutes ago, and they were already here. Perhaps—”

“No!” Loki interrupted, close to him now. “What happened on Asgard?”

How did Loki know? Thor blinked and swallowed. “The Chitauri came and demanded that we hand you over,” he said.

Loki stiffened. “He what?” His voice was almost inaudible.

“He demanded that we hand you over.”

Loki closed his eyes.“Tell me everything. Do not leave out a single word.”

Thor wanted to demand that Loki tell him what was going on, but he resisted and instead explained all that he could remember. “The Chitauri captain came forward and demanded that we hand you over. Father said that that was impossible; that you were dead. The captain said that wasn’t true and we were hiding you from him. He turned to me then, and asked if I was hiding you.”

“You did not,” Loki hissed.

“No. I did not. I told him you were dead. He became furious and began to threaten us, saying that if he found you alive and well, within our boarders, Asgard would pay, and we would regret our lies. Father became firm then—you know how he is when he gets angry—and said that the Chitauri were fortunate that Asgard wasn’t declaring war on them for attacking a peaceful Realm, and that even if he did find out that we were hiding you, it would change nothing, because you were—” Thor stopped, unsure if he should say the next words or fill it in with something else.

“Because I was what?” Loki said, unmoving, steady.

Thor pushed aside his doubt and continued. “Because you were his son, and he wouldn’t give you up even if you were his to give up. And that you were legally under Asgard’s jurisdiction.”

“Then what?” Loki pressed when Thor stopped.

“Then—nothing. The captain could say nothing else and Father dismissed the council.” Thor finished. 

Loki turned away, his hands pressed to either side of his head. “He demanded me,” he said, almost in a whisper. 

“Yes,” Thor confirmed. He could see his brother’s mind beginning to spin, and resolved to keep quiet unless Loki asked him something. 

“But why would he demand me?” Thor’s answer did not seem to satisfy him. 

“Is not that what you thought he would do?” Thor was confused.

Loki waved his hand in a brushing motion. “I only said that so you’d hide me,” he said, preoccupied. Thor’s eyes widened. Rarely did Loki ever freely admit to a lie. 

Loki turned around again, his hands still pressed to his head. There was blood on his lower lip as he bit it, and his wide eyes stared blankly at nothing, and Thor saw that he was afraid. Loki was terrified. 

Loki continued turning, pacing, staring at the floor, speaking aloud as if Thor were no longer there. “But why—he wants the Tesseract, and if he knows Odin does not care for me and would willingly give me to him, then— _he wants the Tesseract._ Why would he demand _me_?”

ɤ

“The Chitauri Captain is demanding to see you.”

Odin’s fingers tightened around Gungnir. “He has nothing more to say to me,” he answered, softly. 

“He is insist—”

The doors flew open and the Chitauri Captain swept in, followed by a troop of guards shouting at him to stop. Odin gazed at him, saw the fire and glee in him, and held up a hand. Everyone stopped. Odin looked at his servants.

“Leave us alone.”

The servants obeyed without a sound. When the doors closed, the Chitauri Captain came closer.

“Your son lied to you, Allfather.”

“Loki lied to many in life,” Odin answered. “But you are not to discuss his faults with me.”

“It is true, Loki has lied to many,” the Captain conceded, and his breathe hissed. “But Loki is not the son of which I speak.”

ɤ

Loki froze, gaze fastened on nothing. He remained like that, the silence building around them until Thor could stand it no longer.

"Loki?"

Loki shook himself and rested his arms against the table, bent over in what could either be a defeated or a scheming manner. “He is powerful. He came here without the Tesseract. His army is not depleted.”

“The captain?”

“No. The Other.”

Thor blinked. “Who is he?”

“I do not know,” Loki bowed his head. “He is—with the Captain, but the Captain is the Other.”

Something didn’t make sense. Actually, a lot of things didn’t make sense, but one thing in particular. “If he is so powerful, why were we able to defeat him when he attacked Midgard?”

Loki’s eyes went wide again and he went rigid.

“Loki?”

“Thor,” Loki breathed, as if in awe. 

Thor clenched his fingers around Mjolnir. “What?”

"It is too much," he whispered. "Too much risk, too unstable."

"What is?"

“The agreements,” Loki fidgeted and looked at him, taking his hands down. "Hunting for me and your fight."

"What?"

“I made a contract with him.”

Thor nodded. “About the Tesseract.”

“No. Yes. But…” He closed his eyes tightly and shuddered. “He warned me, that if I did not give the Tesseract to Him, then they would come and find me. And I agreed that they would.”

“You agreed to being hunted?”

“No. I just agreed that they would find me in the end.” Loki opened his eyes again. “The Chitauri, they are like—fearsome bloodhounds. They can track anything.”

“That is not a contract,” Thor said, still confused.

“It was enough,” Loki rested his forehead against his hand. “This is why he is so strange. He does not twist fate…he is connected to it.”

“What?”

“He does not fight the way we do, Thor. He needs a reason.”

“But—”

Loki raised his voice, speaking quickly, as if struggling to get his thoughts out before they flew away. “He needs agreements. Broken contracts. I knew all along that there was something strange about him; I thought he was out of touch. He was not. He is connected. He has found a way to connect to fate itself. He gains his power from someone refusing his rights. If Asgard and Midgard were unaware of my whereabouts, when he came, he would have no legitimate reason to wage war—because Asgard would not willingly be holding me from him. But as you are…by lying to him…” Loki staggered back against the wall.

“But we—I did not make a contract with him.” 

“That does not matter. You are interfering with the agreement between he and I. That gives him unlimited power. The power to reduce Asgard, Migard, and all other Realms into piles of rotten ash. At least, until he finds me.”

Thor struggled to straighten this out.  “Then why did you enter into this agreement at all?” 

Loki closed his eyes. “I didn’t know. And I thought we would win. I would rule Midgard, he would have the Tesseract to do what he wished with it—whether that be reducing Asgard to molten rock or no. I should have seen that he was deceiving me the entire time. I could feel fate changing and writhing when he struck deals with me, but I didn’t…” Loki trailed off, struggled a moment to find words, and then continued. “He orchestrated the entire thing. He never wanted the Chitauri to overtake Midgard. He wanted me to fail.” A few moments of stunned silence passed, until Loki opened his eyes again. “You have to hunt me.”

Thor blinked. “What? I?”

Loki nodded. “You have to help him find me.”

“But—I cannot! I cannot do that!” Thor said in desperation. 

“You must! Look at your precious Midgard. How long do you think it will last until then? Think of Asgard. Do you not think he would gladly turn and destroy the shining jewel of the Nine Realms?”

Thor looked at him in confusion, and in wonder. “You are doing this to protect Asgard,” he said in awe, and suppressed excitement.

“I am doing this to protect myself,” Loki snapped. “You do not understand, Thor. If you do not undue your earlier blunder of lying to him, he will find me much sooner than if you, master hunter, help him search me out.”

Thor gripped Mjolnir harder. “You wish me to lead him astray.”

“No,” Loki ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “You have to give it your all. You have to really, truly, help him find me. Otherwise his power will remain.”

Thor grasped what it was Loki was saying. He internally withered. “This is my fault.”

“No,” Loki said, with a conviction that surprised Thor. “You did not know. And had you not made it, I would not have known either.”

Thor’s stomach churned at the thought of hunting Loki. “I do not think I can.”

“You have to,” Loki said. And Thor knew he was right. 

“Will it stop him from attacking Midgard?”

“Probably not,” Loki said. “But it will stop his utter control. It will prevent his finding me immediately, and it will buy Midgard some time.” 

Thor swallowed. “Will you be all right?”

“I have to be,” he said, and held up a hand. Reality beginning to slip aside at his fingers. “Please,” Loki whispered through his pained expression. “Do not let your dull wits fail me now.” He glanced towards the front of the store. “Now go, before the Chitauri destroy Midgard.”

ɤ

Thor flew up into the sky, and his heart staggered at the sight. During the few minutes he had spent with Loki, buildings had tumbled, crushed. The streets were empty of people, cars scattered every which way, but screams still echoed from various directions as the Chitauri scavenged the city. Thor flew to the top of Stark Tower and landed. Instantly, a Chitauri leapt upon him. Thor struggled to thrust it off, but it clung to him with unreal strength. Thor spun, and struck its side with Mjolnir, detaching it. Before it could leap back, Thor began to spin Mjolnir, filling his lungs with air and letting out a great shout.

“CHITAURI!” He raised Mjolnir into the air and lightning struck at it and the sky with a deafening crack. The Chitauri did not halt as he had hoped, but the closest around New York City hesitated. “I wish to speak with your captain,” Thor shouted, lowering Mjolnir once more. “Where is he?” Silence. Then, with a whir, one of the Chitauri’s transports came out of the darkness and settled on the roof. The Captain—Other?—stepped out.

“Here I am, Asgardian.”

Thor turned to face him with a firm glower, letting Mjolnir hang somewhat non-threateningly at his side. “I am aware of the deal you struck with my Brother, concerning Midgard and the Tesseract, and the conditions contained thereof,” he began. 

“What of it?” the Other hissed. Thor did not see what Loki saw in this creature as other-worldly. To Thor, he looked like another dirty, destructive Chitauri.

Thor took a discreet deep breath. He must do this. He _must._ “If you will agree to stop your warlike activities against Midgard and the other of the Nine Realms, I will assist you in finding Loki.”

Tony rose up out of nowhere. “Thor, what are you doing?”

Thor held up a hand to silence him, and, surprisingly, it worked.

The Other ignored the interruption. “Why should I agree to something that is already rightfully mine?”

Thor wanted nothing more than to hit the Other across the jaw. Thor’s help was _not_ rightfully his.

_ It was enough. _

Was the Other bluffing? If Loki was right, Thor was no longer getting in the way of the Other’s contract with Loki, and some of his power was already lost. It was a lose-lose situation, and the Other knew it. If Thor did not offer to help him, he had ultimate power. If Thor did, he had limited power. But neither way meant he had to stop attacking Midgard.

 Thor hated doing it, but he held Mjolnir out to the side and opened his fingers. Mjolnir dropped to the roof and landed with a deep clang. The Other was silent and, abruptly, all sounds of battle and destruction ceased. The Chitauri’s face split open in a sickening version of a smile. 

_If Loki was correct._

Thor took a deep breath. “Shall we go to my father? We must begin.”

ɤ

Loki ran to a very specific place. When escaping Asgard, he had not cared where he went, so long as he changed locations quickly. He couldn’t do that now, for two reasons. One being that, with the Other’s transporting capabilities, the Chitauri’s bloodhound-like senses, and Thor’s expertise in hunting, mindless world-hopping was not enough to escape them. Reason number two being that he didn’t have the ability to world-hop helter-skelter. Not with magic that hurt. He had to figure out why his magic was hurting him, and how he might stop it. He didn’t know what could be causing it; only that it had not happened anytime before his punishments. Loki went to the one place in the universe he might find an answer.

The library. The library of Vanaheim, where he was less likely to be recognized than the library at Asgard.

Though first he stopped through a house where he lifted a dark scarf and hooded cloak, which he used to hide most of his face. Then he slipped into the quiet, mostly-empty palace-like building, using what little magic he could to go unnoticed. He went to the law books, of criminal code and justice. He searched for information of sorcerers, but could find little that was not, compared to his knowledge, rudimentary. He decimated several shelves before he pulled of a thick leather book that smelled of damp cloth and flipped through it. A large illustration stopped him cold; a colorful, full-page depiction of the universal outlaw brand. Loki shuddered and almost slammed the book shut. He leaned against the bookshelf, glanced around at the empty isles, and forced himself to scan the pages.

The brand, the book informed him, served as the universal outlaw marking. It was used to prevent criminals from having free-range of the world if they escaped their designated boundaries. The brand had magical properties that prevented the bearer of the markings from ever hiding them, through cosmetics, surgery, or, for magical bearers, shape shifting. Its shining glow made it more distinguishable. It was vulnerable to invisibility, but that was it. Loki turned the page in impatience. He knew his time grew short, and he had to get out of there. Preferably with a plan.

The other magical properties of the brand, the book informed him, served not only as a preventer of free-range, but as a preventer of the criminal’s escaping other justices. It could, for a simplistic example, for a criminal who had been forbidden to eat certain types of food, cause the criminal to vomit up whatever forbidden substances he had partaken. 

Loki gripped the book harder.

It did have limits on what it could prevent, the book said, for it was no replacement for the overseer of justice, but it was more of a safeguard, there to help keep the punishments there.

That was why. Loki shut the book. With his mouth sewn shut, with one punishment solidly in place, he could still access his magic. When Thor had cut it, and more power had flooded in, the brands must have pressed upon his magic, diminishing his ability to use it, in order to keep him with a punishment. Loki closed his eyes. He knew the why, but he still didn’t know the how. How to get rid of it? Could he?

He didn’t have the time to figure that out. A brief surge of panic came over him and he shuddered. Loki took a deep breath and closed his eyes, tucking his shaking hands underneath his arms and forcing them to become still.

Just as well, as he suspected the Chitauri’s abilities—or at least, the Other’s abilities—included tracking magic. He couldn’t leave a trail for them. He had to go where Thor did not expect him to go. Thor knew that was what he would try to do, so he had to find a place that simply wouldn’t cross Thor’s mind at all.

ɤ

Steve noticed that the Chitauri suddenly became more manageable. 

“What happened?” he gasped as he took a Chitauri down with its own gun. 

“Who cares?” Natasha spun and took another out with a roundhouse kick.

 “Captain,” Tony’s voice buzzed in his ear. “We have a situation.”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know,” Steve grumbled, ducking under fire. 

“Thor’s taken the leader to Asgard.”

“Captured?” Steve grunted, flinging his shield at a Chitauri as it bore down on Natasha.

“No. Thor told him he’d help him find Loki.”

Steve froze, catching the shield as Natasha threw it back at him. “I need a minute,” he said to her, ducking into a broken-down doorway. Natasha jumped in front of it and fended off more attackers.

“That doesn’t sound like Thor,” Steve said, leaning a hand against the counter while he caught his breath. “The leader actually convinced him?”

“Thor off—” there was a hitch in the transmission as Tony let out a yell, with the sound of repulsers. “Thor offered,” he said after the short battle was finished.

“What?” 

“Thor offered to help the leader if he would stop attacking Mi—Earth.”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Natasha joined the transmission, “We’re still being attacked!”

“I know. The leader didn’t agree, but Thor went with him anyway.” 

“Rogers!” Natasha shouted from the doorway. Steve wanted to sit down under the shock of the news, but he helped Natasha get rid of the battalion of Chitiauri that converged all at once.

“His eyes weren’t blue, were they?” Steve managed, standing back-to-back with Natasha.

“Thor’s eyes are blue anyway. But no, not Tesseract-y. And he didn’t want to help the leader, but it looked like he felt like he had to.”

“How long ago was this?”  He and Natasha separated, fighting off separate targets.

“About four minutes.”

“That’s when the Chitauri stopped being Hulk-like,” Steve realized. “Thor must know something we don’t.”

“ROGERS!” Natasha screamed. Steve whirled and threw. The shield sliced open the throats of several of the Chitauri, and they and Natasha all fell. Steve started towards her, but more converged. One of the Chitauri grabbed his shield before it could whirl back to him.

“Stark!” Steve shouted. Then his arm twisted, pain shot up his calves, and he found himself staring up at the sky as blackness closed in.

ɤ

“Oh—my—” Pepper’s voice gave out in shock.

“Pepper, get Jane, and get out,” Tony said through the earpiece.

“What’s wrong?” Jane looked up from the papers strewn across the tables and keyboards, a ballpoint pen between two fingers, and a tablet pen between two others. “Pepper?”

Pepper struggled to find her voice. “I can’t—”

Shots echoed through the earpiece, swallowing up part of Tony’s next words. “—o me, get out now!”

“He wants us to leave,” Pepper said to Jane.

“What??” Jane snatched up her own earpiece from where she’d discarded it after the noises of the battle became too distracting. “Tony, are you insane? We can’t leave now, I need to close this—”

Explosions came through the air, making Pepper’s eardrums ache. “Don’t—” another explosion, and Tony let out a horrifying, pained scream. “Pep—” the scream again. The line went static. 

Pepper’s mouth filled with blood; she’d bitten her tongue. Her fingers touched her lips as they moved with no sound. She pressed against the earpiece, struggling to revive the signal, forcing her voice out from somewhere deep inside of her. “Tony. Tony, can you hear me? Tony!”

Jane stood with an expression of shock, face pale. “What just—”

Something within the building crashed. Pepper became an automaton, as her finger inanely continued to press and re-press the earpiece, searching for the signal. “Get your things. We’re leaving.”

Jane pressed the papers in her hands to her chest, recovering, staring Pepper full in the eye. “No, we’re not.”

“Yes we are,” Pepper said simply, stupidly, unable to think. Tony. Tony’d told them to leave. Something was going very wrong, and Tony had told them to leave. They were leaving. She picked her jacket up off of the floor. Something else shattered. An explosion from a nearby building, a scream.

Jane stood her ground, grabbing Pepper’s arm, hard. It hurt. “No we’re not. Pepper, we have to stop them from coming through from—wherever they’re coming through. And that’s here, and the equipment is here. We’re staying.”

Pepper looked at her, feeling as though her thoughts were making their way through thick molasses. The earpiece let out an especially sharp stab of static. She tried to wake up. No, of course they couldn’t leave. The Avengers weren’t leaving. They would stay to defend the Earth with them.  “Then gather your things and follow me,” Pepper murmured. 

Jane flew back to the table and shoveled the papers and data chips into big, messy piles. Pepper continued to press her earpiece. 

“JARVIS,” she said, pronouncing each word carefully as she headed to the door. “We need the ever new and improving bunker.” Tony and his ridiculous code words. They made any emergency sound silly.

“As you wish, Miss Potts,” JARVIS said.

“We need the which-what?” Jane asked through the pens in her mouth. Her eyes widened as a loud crack shot through the room. Pepper gasped as the door in front of her splintered and burst open, sending sharp pieces of metal and wood into her skin. Pain exploded in her right ear and Pepper crashed into the far wall. Pain throbbed through her skull, and she heard Jane screaming her name.

“Cover,” Pepper spat out to JARVIS, as she scrambled onto her hands and knees, doing her best to ignore the violent tipping of the floor. “Jane!”

A smoky haze immediately filled the room, blinding her and hopefully the Chitauri as well. Pepper dashed in the direction of Jane’s startled cry, grasped the first human-feeling arm she found and yanked her towards the elevators. The Chitauri screeched in protest of the mishap, and a few fired wild shots that shattered a few computers. Jane and Pepper dropped onto their hands and knees and crawled. They made it to the elevator, and the doors slid silently open and closed.

Inside, JARVIS siphoned the smoke out of the air. 

Pepper blinked her stinging eyes. Jane sat on the floor next to her, papers and equipment hugged to her chest.

“So exactly where are we going?” she coughed. 

“Something Tony built,” Pepper answered. 

“Your ear!” Jane said, her gaze fastened to the side of Pepper’s face. Pepper reached up a hand and felt blood dripping there. The static had gone silent, and she pulled out two broken pieces of plastic and metal. All that was left of her earpiece. 

“It’s fine,” Pepper said, pulling out small chips of wood from the skin of her arm.

The elevator reached the destination with a clunk. Pepper opened the doors and they stepped out into an entirely dark room. After a few moments, dim lights flickered on, revealing sleek metal walls, and lumpy shapes covered with tarp. From above, explosions could still be heard.

“What is this?” Jane asked.

“A bunker,” Pepper said. She gestured at the tarps. “There you’ll find equipment. There are food and medical supplies down here, some changes of clothing, things like that.”

“I didn’t know Tony had something like this,” Jane said, peeking under one of the tarps at a computer. 

“Tony has a lot of things you don’t know about,” Pepper said, feeling suddenly very tired. Tony. 

JARVIS spoke up, from the elevator. “Will you be requiring anything else, Miss Potts?”

“No, thank you,” Pepper said. “Please seal us in.”

“Seal us in??” Jane dropped the tarp and looked up, alarmed. 

“Are you certain, Miss Potts?”

Pepper nodded. “Yes. Go ahead. Take care of yourself, Jarvis.”

“As an AI, I cannot take more care of myself than I already do,” said JARVIS. “But thank you for the sentiment. Please take care of yourselves as well.”

Pepper smiled. Jane still looked distressed.

“Why are you and JARVIS exchanging goodbyes!?”

Jarvis answered for her. “Once you are sealed in, Miss Foster, you will have no contact with the outside world, except what you can do through those computers, which are completely independent of the rest of the tower, myself included.”

“But—” Jane began.       

“Go ahead, Jarvis. Thank you ahead of time.”

“You are very welcome.”

The doors slid closed, the elevator left, and the sounds of the attack from far above their heads ceased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: the good guys don't always win. And they aren't all immortal either.


	9. Suspend

Bruce forced his heavy eyelids open. He shook his head and sat up, feeling cold and dead, like a rock. A dim, flickering yellow light bulb lit the small, rectangular metal room. Empty shelves and a large barrel lined the walls. A heavy door took up one wall—at least, he thought it might be a door. The small cracks indicated that it was a door. He shivered, rubbing his bare arms. He couldn’t remember most of earlier today. Or yesterday. Or whatever it was. Only that the Chitauri were back and—he had some bruises he realized with an uneasy lurch of his stomach. Bruises he didn’t remember getting. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

Bruce rubbed his eyes and looked around him. Behind him, on the floor, lying against the wall as if flung there, were two bodies. Bruce crawled over to them, and let out a small gasp.

“Tasha! Steve!”

Natasha lay in a curled position, one arm over her face, the other wrapped around her middle. Bruce moved her hand and swallowed. A long slash went down her side, splitting her clothing and stained with large clots of dried blood. He pulled gently at the fabric, which stuck stubbornly to her skin. Long and, in some places, deep. She was breathing, with some hitches. Bruce moved her arm away from her face and brushed a finger over her eyelashes. Her eyes twitched. She was sleeping, then, and not unconscious. But an unusually deep sleep for Natasha; it wasn’t like her to not be aware of someone touching and moving her. He decided to let her sleep while he turned to examine Steve. 

Unlike Natasha, he didn’t have any obvious injuries, excepting a small mat of blood on the back of his head. Bruce brushed his finger over his eyelashes as well, but got no response. He was unconscious. That wasn’t good; how long had they been in here? Bruce glanced around the small space again, but couldn’t find an answer etched in the walls. If Steve was unconscious because of a knock on the head—a traumatic brain injury—anything longer than a half an hour meant bad, very bad. At least with no medical help. 

Bruce pressed his fingers along Steve’s body. He found no evidence for an injured spinal cord, so he pulled Steve’s legs straight and pushed him onto his back so he could breathe more easily. Bruce stood up and went over to the door, still feeling slightly like a robot—it was cold in here—and tried to turn the giant wheel that served as the knob, but it wouldn’t budge. Locked. Figured. 

_Betcha the Other Guy could get it open._ He thought, darkly. Though, judging by the serious indentions in the doors, he had a sickening feeling that the Other Guy had already tried. _You had better let us out of here._

Truth be told, he didn’t really know who “you” was. The Chitauri, probably, but Bruce couldn’t remember what exactly had led him to getting locked up in here.

A soft intake of breath came from behind him. Bruce spun around and ran back. “Tasha.”

Her eyelids fluttered, and after some unsuccessful, voiceless breaths, managed, “Banner?”

Bruce got on his knees next to her. “Me. Lie still, you’re hurt.”

“I can tell,” Natasha said, not moving. “What happened?”

“I’m not sure. Steve’s here too, but he’s unconscious. We’re locked in some sort of safe.”

Natasha squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before reopening them. “I’m wearing more than one layer. Think you could wrap it up for me?”

“Sure,” Bruce said, “Sorry in advance.”

“I’ve had worse,” Natasha murmured, setting her mouth in a stiff line. Bruce pulled off her jacket as quickly and gently as he could. Natasha didn’t make a sound, but anger still grew inside of him, and once, he had to look down, close his eyes and count to ten. Once it was finished, and her wound clumsily wrapped, with a few more don’t-hulk-out sessions, Natasha told him everything she could remember, which wasn’t much. They deduced that she had probably been drugged. Natasha didn’t know what had happened to Steve, Tony, Pepper, Jane, or the others. Thor had gone to Asgard with the Chitauri leader.

Bruce half-shrugged at this news. He didn’t know what to make of it, so he didn’t try to make anything of it. He crawled back over to check on Steve. “Do you have any idea how long he’s been unconscious?” 

“Give me a watch and I might be able to ballpark it,” Natasha said. No, in other words. 

“This could be bad,” Bruce muttered. As he spoke those words, Steve stirred. Bruce peered into his face. “He’s waking up! Can you hear me?” Bruce touched Steve’s forehead, and Steve’s eyes opened. Bruce’s hopes plummeted. His pupils were dilated. Still gauging the possibilities, Bruce said nothing and waited for a reaction. Steve didn’t move, and he seemed to have trouble focusing his eyes, his gaze wandering. 

Concussion. At the very least. Bruce gripped Steve’s shoulder, bringing the gaze to him. “What’s your name?” Bruce asked.

Steve blinked, his mouth opened, and his lips moved, but no sound came out at first. Until, finally, in a rasped whisper.

“Rogers. Stephen Rogers.”

“Do you recognize me?”

Steve stared at him without answering for a long time. Bruce felt dread churning up in him. At last he whispered, doubtfully, “Commander?”

Bruce shook his head, biting his lip. “What’s the date?”

Steve looked confused, and again his lips moved without noise at first. “November…4th…1943?” Natasha cursed quietly. 

“Okay,” Bruce said, thinking through this. “Listen, you need to relax and stay calm.”

Steve blinked slowly, looking as though he might fall back asleep any moment. “Where am I?”

“My name is Bruce Banner. This woman is Natasha Romanov. Ring any bells?”

Steve blinked hard and brought up his hand to rub at his face. He didn’t answer, and his gaze wandered again.

“Steve. Steve. Stephen.” Bruce got his attention again. “Do those names sound familiar to you? Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanov.”

Steve grimaced, his hand at his forehead. “No.”

“Okay,” Bruce took a deep breath. “You’re having some amnesia, Steve. You were hit on the head and probably have a traumatic brain injury. But we, Natasha and I, are your friends.”

Steve looked dubious. “Amnesia,” he repeated, and started to sit up. Bruce put a hand against his shoulder to slow him.

“I wouldn’t do that yet if I were you.”

Steve ignored him, sitting the rest of the way up and looking around. He stared at Natasha for a moment, forehead furrowing. He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again. A few moments later his expression cleared.

“Are you hurt, ma’am?”

“I’m fine,” Natasha said.

Steve cringed, shuddering, and lay back down. “Is this Hydra’s doing?”

“No.” Bruce told the truth, unsure if that was the best thing at this point. “I’ll explain it later. You should sleep now.”

“I—I don—” Steve’s speech slurred, and his hand went to his forehead again. His breathing quickened.

“Do you have a headache?”

Steve glanced around as if seeing the room for the first time. Blood flushed to his face and he tensed. “Who are you?”

“Friends,” Bruce said. “Please, lie down. You’re hurt.”    

Steve suddenly jumped to his feet, but his foot slid far to the side as if he couldn’t find the floor. “SCHMIDT!” he shouted, eyes wild. Bruce jumped up.

“Steve, calm down. Calm down. Please.”

Steve kept turning, staggering, and started to fall. Bruce caught him and Steve sank to the ground, gasping hard. He let out a small moan and his eyes slid shut. He struck out. Bruce grabbed his hands.

“Steve. Calm down before you hurt someone.”

Steve shuddered and went limp. Bruce cursed and checked his pulse.

“That bad, huh?” Natasha said.

“Very,” Bruce said. “This has—more than the symptoms for a moderate to severe brain injury. The slurred speech, confusion, lack of attentiveness, abrupt and unusual agitation, headache, physical in-coordination, even the dilated pupils—but amnesia. Many people with TBI have memory problems, including amnesia, but—how many years has Steve been with us now? That’s way too much time missing.”

“Does the serum have something to do with it?”

“I’m sure it does,” Bruce shook his head. “I just don’t know what.” 

ɤ

Loki stood at the entrance of a low cave, supplies strewn about him. He’d used the least amount of magic to teleport anywhere, and he’d ended up here. Niflheim, again. Why was it always Niflheim?

Loki dreaded what he needed to next. So instead he cast himself down in the snow, much like he had done as a child, and let it soak in. It melted against his skin, and the wind blew through him like a knife through mist. He lay there feeling himself grow numb, and then turn to fire. Would he change? Would his body morph back to save itself? Or was he always to be trapped in this lie? He changed when it was cold enough, but that temperature, he thought, was lower than what would cause death first. 

_Throw your worst!_ He demanded to the universe. _Bring me back, if you dare._

_ɤ_

_Loki breathed in the warm smell of the stable, dodging past the servants and guards that oversaw Sleipnir. He put a hand against the smooth wood, and the door slowly opened. Sleipnir turned his head to look at him._

_“Hello,” Loki murmured, shutting the door behind him. “Keep quiet or they will chase me away.” He held out a hand. Sleipnir walked over to him and touched Loki’s outstretched palm with his nose. Loki smiled, rubbing the horse’s head and neck, enjoying the liquid movement of the warm skin._

_“You would let me ride you if I needed to, would you not?” Loki asked, scratching his ears. “You would throw Thor or anyone else, other than Odin, but you would allow me. I know it.” Loki sighed. “Sometimes, I believe you are the only being in this universe that would be loyal to me. Perhaps Fenrir and Jormungandr as well, if I could find them. Perhaps they would answer to a call. Would you answer to my call if I ever needed you?”_

_Sleipnir butted his head up against Loki’s shoulder, then raised it high, nostrils flaring, as if taking guard. Loki slipped his arm around Sleipnir’s neck, stroking the mane. “I can’t run away with you now, though. That would be cowardly, wouldn’t it? And I intend to take care of myself anyway.” He ran his other hand down one of Sleipnir’s thighs. He rested his forehead against Sleipnir’s neck, eyes closed, and Sleipnir in return rested his head on Loki’s shoulder. “Eight legs,” Loki murmured. “I don’t know why you turned out that way. Unique. That is a blessing, to the beautiful, but it can also be a curse. It was with Fenrir and Jormungandr. How does fate decide? When does difference change from glorious, to pitiable, to loathsome?” Loki suddenly couldn’t speak, and he stunned himself by a wet hotness slipping from his eyes and soaking into Sleipnir’s mane. He remained still for a few seconds, and then Sleipnir tossed his head and snorted. Loki brought his arm down from around Sleipnir’s neck._

_“Sentiment,” he muttered, dashing away the tears with the back of his hand. “I have more important things to do here, where it is quiet.” Loki sat down against one wall, with straw beneath him. He spread his hands on the ground and closed his eyes._

ɤ

Loki finally arose, shaking violently, and stumbled back into the cave. With fingers he couldn’t feel he gathered up the things on the floor, tying them to himself and hiding within his cloak and pack, knotting the strings tight and tying everything securely tight against him. 

_Just a few more hours,_ he pleaded. _Keep them away from here for a few more hours, Thor._

He crouched and spread his hands out on the floor closing his eyes, battling to make the connection—or disconnection, depending on how you looked for it—that had once been so easy. He dug deep inside of himself, his eyes rolling back into his head. He ignored all outward sensations, the cold, the rough stone against his palms, the danger that could appear at his back. An ache grew inside of him.

_Do not abandon me. I need you. I need you. I need you._

He searched through the abyss, pulling deep inside himself.

_I will die without this. I need you. Trees in the forest…_

He needed to throw the Other off of his trail. He needed to keep him from guessing where Loki was truly hiding. And more importantly, he needed to go where Thor would not think of looking. 

So he needed to flee to that which Thor did not know existed.

ɤ

The barrel held water. Stagnant water, but it was all they had. They had nothing to carry it in, and Bruce rationed it out. Steve slept a lot, and every time he woke up, it was like starting over; he kept asking where he was, who Bruce and Natasha were, and what Hydra had done. He talked about Bucky and Peggy too—friends from his former life, Bruce knew—in passing mentions. 

Almost every time he woke up, he also looked hard at the two of them, and said, “I promise you, I’ll get us out of here,” the way a man with natural leadership and protective instincts would.

Natasha rarely spoke; it pained her. 

“Tasha,” Bruce said after the third time Steve woke up—they had no other way of telling time—“Please, let me—”

Natasha knocked his hand away. “Bruce.”

“It could be infected, I need to—”

“Of course it’s infected.” Natasha shrugged one shoulder, tucking her hands underneath her arms. “You can’t do anything, Bruce. I’m sorry.”

He couldn’t. Dumping stagnant water on an open wound was not a good idea. Bruce got up and went over to the door.

“Bruce,” Natasha warned.

“If we don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to kill something,” Bruce said, putting his hands against the metal. “And it’ll either be this door, or one of you.”

As if in response, the door clanged. Bruce stepped back, just in time to get out of the way before it flew open and something struck him with a force that sent Bruce backwards, hitting the wall. The rage welled inside of him.

Natasha let out a shout. “Bruce! No!”

Clang. Bruce struggled, with his eyes shut tight. 

“Bruce!”

A moan. Bruce, with a deep breath, knew he had things under control and he sat up, opening his eyes. A few feet in front of him, a man sat up, so bruised and battered that Bruce might have had a hard time recognizing him if it hadn’t been for the glowing orb in his chest.

“Tony,” he said. 

“Stark,” said Natasha.

Tony rubbed his non-black eye. “Hello, gang.”

“What happened to you?” Bruce asked.

Tony gave him an incredulous look. “What do you think happened? They threw stuff at me until my suit finally shut off and then they ripped it apart.”

“They ripped your suit apart?” Bruce asked with a sinking feeling.

“Right of my body,” Tony growled, staggering as he got to his feet. Bruce stood up as well. “Took some time, but now it’s just a pile of metal parts and wires. Why the hell did they throw us in here for?”

Bruce decided it would be best not to bother Tony about the suit right now. “I don’t know. Starve us to death?”

“If they’d wanted me dead, they could have split my skull in half with their fingernails. They have to be planning something else if they decided to keep us in here.”

Steve stirred and sat up. 

“It’s about time, sleeping beauty. Not even a hello from you, huh?” Tony growled.

“Don’t,” Bruce said.

Steve stared at Tony. 

“What are you looking at?” Tony demanded. “Enjoying the way I look when my suit’s taken away, Spangles?”

“Stark,” Steve said. “Howard Stark.”

“What? Don’t even get me started,” Tony began, but Steve kept talking.

“No,” he said. “Tony.”

Bruce crouched down. “Steve, do you know this man?”

“Of course he knows me,” Tony said. 

Steve still stared at him, and then slowly shook his head. “No,” he said, in answer to Bruce. “But…”

“You knew his name,” Bruce prompted. 

Steve leaned back, looking utterly frustrated and ready to give up. 

“Oh no,” Tony moaned. “Please don’t tell me…” 

“He’s lost his memory, Tony,” Natasha confirmed. 

“No kidding,” Tony glanced at her. “What happened to you?”

“Nice of you to notice,” said Natasha dryly. “Chitauri. You know.”

Bruce shook his head and went to the barrels to give out water. The time started to crawl even more. Tony spent a long time peppering Steve with what he said to be memory-jogging questions.

“Come on, Spangles, remember the Helicarrier engine? When you first got your email address? Cell phone? What about the leg-warmers incident?”

Eventually Tony gave up and he explored the non-contents of the room, giving the door a thorough inspection, before sitting in the corner with his arms crossed. 

ɤ

“If they aren’t trying to starve us,” Bruce said loudly as he stood pressing both hands against the door, head bowed, shoulders tensed. “What the hell are they trying to do?” 

“No, no, no, don’t do that.” Tony stood up and put a hand against the wall, overwhelmed by a bout of dizziness. He often went a long time without eating when engrossed in a project, but even so, this lack of food was getting to him.

“What else are we going to do?” Bruce muttered. Steve looked confused, though that didn’t mean much. He always looked confused. 

Natasha’s labored breathing filled the silence. 

“They want us alive for something, or they would have killed us,” Tony said, slowly, and in what he hoped to be a calm, soothing voice. He did not want a Hulk in here. “They don’t know a thing about humans, so maybe they just don’t know we need to eat a little more often than Asgardians.” Tony rubbed his beginnings of a hermit beard. “We could tell them.”

“Or,” Natasha interrupted, her voice husky. Even in the dim light Tony could see the sweat coating her face and the effort it took her to speak. He didn’t have any idea how the woman was still conscious and intelligible at this point, let alone alive. “We need to think about how they want us alive. We’re—supposed to keep them from getting what they want.”

Bruce stiffened. Tony got angry.

“No.”

“We have to consider it, Tony,” Natasha said. 

“No,” Tony said again. He banished his dizziness and stalked over to the door, pushing Bruce out of the way. “You can sit there and give up if you want to, but I’m not. We’re superheroes, for pity’s sake, and we are not worth more to Earth dead than alive.” He started banging on the metal with his fist. “Hey, you out there!” he shouted, throat dry and headache throbbing. “Chitauri! You don’t know squat about humans, so I’m going to help you out a bit. We need a little more care than your average Asgardian if you want us kept alive. We’re weak and vulnerable, right? That’s why you invaded us? Well, we have a seriously injured woman in here who’s close to dying, and none of us have eaten for days. This pitiful water we have in here is running low. We get sick and _die_ pretty easily—at least, I do, because other than my brilliance and little glowy thing in my chest, I’m totally normal physically and I’m gonna keel over within the next week. Black Widow here’ll probably pop off in the next day or so, if she’s lucky. Hulk might be intimidating when he’s—you know, Hulk, but he can starve like any other guy. I don’t know about Cap, but he’s getting kookier as the days go and I think he might go totally insane soon. Let us out of here, or at least get us some sustenance!”

Tony stopped at last, throat sore and voice leaving.

“Nice going, Stark,” Natasha said. “Just go ahead and tell them how weak we are, why don’t you.”

“Nothing else was working, was it?” Tony plopped back down onto the ground, holding his throbbing head.  

Tony hated to admit it, but what he’d said was right. He knew for sure when, sometime in the next two hours, Natasha blacked out, and Bruce couldn’t get her to wake back up. Tony, Bruce, and Steve all worked together on the door, struggling to heave it open, until they were all exhausted. Steve then began to watch over Natasha, sitting by her side and holding her head, speaking to her whenever it looked like she might be regaining consciousness.

Tony leaned his head against the metal of the door and closed his eyes. He was on the verge of sleeping when a tiny scratching noise came through the metal; so faint it sounded like a pencil against paper. Tony straightened and put his ear against it. 

“Guys, there’s something out there,” he said, listening to it. “You think they’ve come to their senses?”

“That might not be the best thing, if they have,” Steve said, standing up and taking a stance in front of Natasha. Like he could fight them off for long. Tony scooted away from the door, his legs feeling too weak to stand. The scratching continued, never getting louder, and sometimes fading away altogether. Then with a grating noise, the door began to slide open. 

Steve gestured. “Dr. Banner,” and Bruce stationed himself in front of it, in a crouch. “If it’s one of those Chitauri, let yourself loose.” Bruce nodded, and Tony wondered if Steve had guessed about Bruce’s alter-ego from their limited conversation, or it he actually remembered something. “Get behind me, Mr. Stark,” Steve ordered next, and Tony didn’t argue.

The door slid open about a foot and stopped; the beginnings of a long, thin black hallway, with a little sliver of light at the end. What on earth had they been locked inside?

Some of the light was blocked out. Bruce was taking deep breaths through his mouth. The next moment, a lithe figure popped into the room. Bruce went limp, going down on his hands and knees.

“Oh my life,” he said, his voice cracking. 

“It’s about time!” Tony burst out.

“Barton,” Steve said, in the bewildered voice that Tony had come to recognize as the hey-I-know-something-but-I-don’t-know-how tone.

Clint straightened and gave Steve a little salute. “I may have questioned some of your actions in the past, sir, but I admit sending me to Chechnya certainly worked out for the best,” he said, and then stopped as his gaze snapped to the figures behind the captain.

“She’s bad,” Bruce said, getting to his feet again. “And the rest of us aren’t much better. Steve’s lost most of his memory of post-nineteen-forties, and we’re starving and dehydrated.”

Wordlessly, Clint pushed past Steve and crouched next to Natasha, one hand on her shoulder.

Steve regained some of his authority. “What’s your status?” he asked Clint. Clint didn’t answer at first, then he looked up with a distant look in his eyes.

“Chechnya,” he said. “I—there are two Shield agents guarding the other side of this. We couldn’t get any more inside. We need to move.” He started to put out his hands, but Steve put a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll carry her. You lead.” 

Clint looked him in the eyes for several seconds before standing and moving away. “We can’t get this door any more open than this.”

“What door is this anyway?” Bruce asked, running his hand down one of the Hulk-indentions.

“You’re in a top secret army base, in the most fortified room in the world against weapons of all sorts, in the most fortified base in the world, which is currently crawling with a couple hundred Chitauri warriors,” Clint said. “You were wondering what took us so long, Mr. Stark?”

“Nope, I’m good,” Tony said, pushing himself to his feet. Steve picked up Natasha, staggered a bit, and then stood firm. Made sense, Tony supposed, that being without food for a week—or whatever it was—would have less of an effect on super-soldiers.

They squeezed one-by-one through the crack. When they popped out on the other side, the two Shield agents waited for them, large stolen Chitauri-weapons in their hands.

Clint glanced at the group, as if checking that no one had keeled over already. “Let’s go. Don’t speak. We need to stay hidden.” 

They went single-file down the dim hallways, with Clint leading and the Shield agents in the rear, behind Steve and Natasha.

 Whomever’s base this was had no sense of style and/or décor, Tony thought. Unless they were going for ugly military base with no sense of style or décor. Metal beams criss-crossed every which way across the low ceiling. Then the ceiling leaped up a couple hundred feet, the walls bent away in a huge circle, and the metal beams increased in size, swooping down from the high ceiling and the platforms made of grating. The flooring only covered the perimeter of the room, with low metal railing fencing off the deep drop of the center of the room.

“I thought you said there were a couple hundred warriors,” Tony started to say. Clint stopped short and jerked his hand up. Their party halted. A clacking footstep echoed from somewhere in the enormous room, but the multiple levels and beams made it impossible to tell where it was coming from. Clint pulled out an arrow and notched it. Holding the bow in one hand, he waved at the others, and they retreated a few steps back into the hallway as Clint walked out along the circular walls in a cat-footed crouch. He went behind a mess of beams and metal and disappeared. 

The next moment, a startled grunt came from behind. Tony’s less-than-peak physical condition slowed his reflexes, and he didn’t look around until something struck him in the back and he toppled over. He still heard no cries. He rolled over onto his back and sat up. One of the SHEILD agents stood over a Chitauri body, knife in hand. Tony felt a little surge of pride for his team. Nobody had made a sound. They were still hidden. Even the SHIELD guys weren’t bad.

He felt it too soon, because the next moment he heard Bruce.

“Damn.”

As four more Chitauri appeared in their hallway. Tony automatically jerked his repulser-less hands up in front of him. The SHIELD agents reacted better, attacking without hesitation. But these Chitauri were better prepared, and let out warning screeches as they attacked. One charged straight at Tony. He ducked down and scooted to the side, doing his best to get out of Iron Man mode, then jumped back up. The Chitauri swung its armored arm like a club. Tony blocked the swipe with his own arm. A jolt like burning fire leapt up his arm and Tony landed a punch on the Chitauri’s face. Then he ducked again and rolled to the side. The Chitauri stabbed downwards. Tony jumped back up, grabbed its arm in both of his like a big, metal teddy bear, and forced it towards its owners’ body. But he was out of hands, and out of strength. Then another hand slapped the weapon and it went off, sending the Chitauri flying. Tony lost his balance, but Bruce caught him.

“Thanks, buddy,” he gasped out, both of his arms throbbing. The other Chitauri were still screeching, but in the next few seconds they lay on the ground. Steve nodded as if to say ‘good work’. He still held Natasha.

“We’ve gotta get out of here,” Tony said, and everyone apparently agreeing with him, turned and ran in the direction Clint had gone. 

Tony hadn’t taken more than ten steps before he saw Clint coming back towards them with a ‘what-the-hell’ face on, which changed to an expression of horror. Tony spun around in time to see two more Chitauri launch themselves at the last person in their line—or, technically, two. Steve and Natasha. Before any of them could move, Steve crouched down, and then jumped into the air, one leg neatly wrapping around one Chitauri warrior’s torso. The momentum and weight of Steve + Natasha’s bodies threw the Chitauri warrior to the side, where it crashed into its comrade and they both fell against a support beam that loomed next to the edge. Steve toppled over, yet somehow landed on his feet. Light as a cat, he jumped up again, landing both feet against the Chitauri warrior’s back. The same instant, an arrow lodged in its neck. They both fell over the edge, and the one still living fell screaming to the bottom—which was several long seconds away.

Steve landed on his back, and lay there. Clint was the first one to reach him, somehow, and without being asked, lifted Natasha away. Steve rolled onto his stomach, and threw up. After a few seconds he looked up at the others, who stood around him in a semi-circle, staring.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his face coloring. “I’ve been needing to do that for a while.”

Tony held out a hand. Steve took it and got to his feet. “Let’s move.” 

Clint gave Natasha back to him and they ran. They managed to get to the other side of the room by running around the perimeter. Heck, they even managed to go through a doorway before another onslaught of Chitauri charged them. Considering where they were, that had to be pretty good. Tony found that flinging himself at the Chitauri tended to catch them off-guard, like they didn’t expect an unarmed, badly battered, flimsy human to be so bold. He wasn’t bold, though. Some people curled up into balls and covered their heads when they were close to peeing their pants from fear. Other people threw all caution to the wind, drowning fear in adrenaline.

Tony was one of the other people.

After it dwindled though, and the Chitauri either fled or lay dead, and he felt blood dripping from a gash in his arm, Tony put out a hand and grabbed the shoulder of one of the SHIELD agents.

“Feeling a little faint here, guys,” he managed. Steve didn’t say anything, but his face was white. Bruce had both of his hands against the wall, taking deep breaths.

“A little further,” Clint said, and they ran again. 

They came to another circular room with levels and only a perimeter for flooring, and this one apparently was the one crawling with the couple hundred Chitauri warriors.

“Bruce!” Clint whipped through his arrows as the Chitauri closed in. Tony kept his hand on the SHIELD agent’s shoulder, knowing that in a few seconds he’d have to let go and stand up on his own, and not relishing the thought.

Then he realized that another, empty doorway and hallway stood to their right. They could make it, if they ran—

“Clint, there’s another way out!” Tony shouted, and then had to clamp his mouth shut to control the sudden nausea that rose up inside of him.

Clint ignored him, still looking at Bruce. He pointed upwards. “The ceiling. We need the Hulk.”

Bruce almost looked relieved, and the next moment a huge green form leaped out into the empty space that was the center of the room. The SHIELD agent ran out from under Tony’s grip and slammed headlong into a Chitauri warrior. Tony would have followed, but the room tipped sideways and he screwed his eyes shut to try to regain his balance. It didn’t work, because when he opened his eyes again he was laying on his side on the ground. The SHIELD agent tossed a Chitauri weapon at him, and Tony didn’t try to get back up. He took out warriors from where he lay. Somewhere above their heads, the Hulk roared, amidst the sound of tearing metal. Tony’s fingers went numb and he fumbled with the weapon as the room began to spin, lazily. He thought he saw a bunch of huge spiders dropping down the vertical tunnel of space.

ɤ

Thor’s nerves were being stretched to the breaking point, even as hope blossomed inside of him. They couldn’t find a trail; none of them could. The longer they went without a starting point for hunting and tracking, the longer Thor would go without any use to the Chitauri, the less likely it was they would find a trail, the more likely it was that Loki would remain hidden, or perhaps even escape permanently. 

But how could he? Even if he escaped permanently, Thor would still have to hunt him. Forever. Thor stood still, hammer in hand, and waiting while the Chitauri swooped their heads, like great dogs, looking for any sign of the trickster within the grass. The Other stood silently, head raised, eyes closed. Thor wondered what the Realms thought of their tramping all over them; he didn’t know, nobody had tried very hard to stop them. The Allfather must have explained, or something… 

The Other’s eyes snapped open. “There,” he snarled, pointing down the hill into Vanaheim’s capital city. Thor obeyed him, flying into the air and swooping down into the buildings with the Chitauri thundering behind him. The Other jerked to the side, entering what Thor knew to be Vanaheim’s library. Well, yes, Loki enjoyed reading—was obsessed with it, almost—but he would hardly stop here for a little study time when the Chitauri were on his trail, would he?

Thor followed the Other as he raced up the stairs, into remote rooms. Chills went down his back as the Chitauri let out screeches of triumph. His luck had run out. They now had a trail. 

“He was here,” the Other proclaimed, running his hand through the air as if tracing an invisible, floating river. “The Silvertongue was here.”

Thor knew his time for helping the Other had come. Now was the time where he had to think calculatingly about where his quarry would go. Where his brother would go. He looked around at the books in this vicinity. It was on criminals, magic, law and justice. Why would Loki stop here?

“Well?” the Other hissed.

Thor ran his thumb along the lines of books. He remembered the video from the attack of the lizards. His breath caught. Suddenly he knew who had sent those things. Who had hurt his brother, and his magic. His magic had hurt. And…

“Does my—Loki know that you can track his magic?” Thor asked.

“He knows all about the Chitauri,” the Other said. “He spent months preparing with us.”

Thor swallowed. Runaways with intelligence always did their best to throw off their pursuers; through crossing rivers, swinging through trees, anything to cut off the scent. Thor knew where Loki must have gone—someplace that would take the least amount of magic possible. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Power surged through the room.

_“You have to give it your all. You have to really, truly, help Him find me.”_

The contract. His power was returning because of Thor’s hesitation. Thor looked up.

“Niflheim,” he said.

“Are you sure?”

Thor nodded, hating himself. “It is mostly unpopulated; lonely and cold. There are few people to recognize him, and Loki—was always drawn there. It would not take him much magic to teleport there.”

That terrible, jerking, disillusioning, feeling of being painlessly torn apart, and Vanaheim disappeared.

ɤ

Tony woke up lying across two seats of a Quinjet. “I guess we got out then,” he said, staring at the ceiling. 

“Good,” came Clint’s voice. “Cause I wasn’t going to wait any longer to debrief you guys.”

Tony sat up with an over-dramatic moan, holding his head, and squinting in the dim light, feeling like he was recovering from a massive hangover. “Got anything to eat in here?”

“Here.” Clint tossed a small plastic container at him. Tony popped open the lid.

“Um. It looks like dirt.”

“It’s a bunch of minerals and stuff,” said Bruce, looking up from where he crouched with rolled-up oversized shirtsleeves over Natasha. Medical supplies were scattered about him. “We’ve all eaten it while you were sleeping. Tastes like chicken.”

Tony sniffed. “It’s dirt.”

“Welcome to the life of a super-assassin,” Clint said dryly. “Now how about I tell you what’s been going on while you’ve been locked in a cellar?”

“Please.” Tony picked up the spoon that lay in the dirt and took a bite. Actually, Bruce was kinda right. It did taste a little like chicken. Chickeny-dirt. Maybe that was just because he was starving. “Where are we?”

“Currently, physically, we’re somewhere over Arizona state,” Clint said. “The whole Earth’s gone into war-mode, though for the moment most of the attack is branching out from New York, and a new rift that’s opened over London.” He turned on a screen. The sound of the Quinjet’s engine seemed to become louder in the sudden silence. Tony’s spoon clattered to the floor. “This footage was taken three days ago,” Clint said. 

“But—that’s—what are they doing?” Bruce was the first to find his voice. 

“Building,” Clint said. 

“What about the people?” Steve asked.

“The people are fine; those who weren’t killed in the first attack,” Clint said. “As far as we can tell. A pattern’s become obvious. When the military attacks, the Chitauri start slaughtering everybody. When the military stops attacking, the Chitauri build, and the people hide in their homes, but don’t die. They’re expanding outwards, in the same way.”

“It’s an occupation,” Tony said, wiping his mouth, and digging out more of the dirt with his fingers, too tired to bend down and pick up his spoon.

“Seems that way.” 

The landscape spanned across the video. Most of the buildings still stood, more or less, but they had expanded, their tops fused into an alien, elegant, yet ugly architecture that swooped over each other, connecting into pyramids that rose into the sky. Dull silver and gold, absorbing the sunlight. 

“What happened to Thor?” Steve asked next. 

“We don’t know. We haven’t heard from him since he left.”

“It was when Thor left that the Chitauri stopped being so hard to fight,” Tony said.

Bruce wiped his hands on a towel. “Maybe that’s why he did what he did.”

“Yeah, because of what Loki said,” Tony agreed. 

Clint’s gaze snapped to him. “What did Loki say? Where is Loki? How does he fit into all of this?”

“Oh yeah.” Tony licked his fingers. “You wouldn’t know. Well, Loki got out of the tower, and soon after these things converged. He told me that he had to talk to Thor, so I carried the message to him in a battle. I assume Thor found him and talked to him, because next thing you know he was flying up to this guy and offering to help him hunt Loki down.”

“You spoke to him. After he escaped,” Clint said. Oh, no. Bother, here we go.

“Uh-huh.” Tony ran his fingers around the edges of the container, beginning to wish it had contained more.

“Why did you let him go?”

“Well, he kinda saved my life from a buncha warriors, and then he kinda threatened me in a way that sort of made sense, and I figured Thor could handle him.”

Clint’s gaze darkened, and Steve spoke for him. “That wasn’t your call to make.”

“Well, you guys were kinda busy,” Tony shrugged. “Hey, he pointed out that the Nine Realms wouldn’t—won’t—be too thrilled if they find out we were hiding him from them.”

“But whatever Loki said convinced even Thor that he had to be captured—and by the Chitauri!” Clint snapped.

Tony couldn’t explain why, but for some reason he felt offended on Loki’s behalf. “Or Loki told him how to make the Chitauri easier to fight.”

“But how does that help us now?” Clint came close to shouting, and he threw a hand out, gesturing at the screen of the occupied New York City.

Tony held up his hands defensively. “Hey, Thor’s offering to help them find Loki probably helped put them off our trail somehow. Things could be worse.”

“That doesn’t make sense, though,” Bruce said, sitting on the floor. “You can’t just turn ‘fighting ability’ on and off like a switch.”

“Well, obviously there was a switch, and I’m betting it had something to do with Thor, and what Loki told him.”

_What are you doing, Tony? Why are you defending him?_

“Switch or no switch, we should have just given him to them,” Clint said through gritted teeth. 

His mouth and its weird new hobby of helping out the God of Lies just wouldn’t shut up. “Well I think—” Tony began, but Steve cut him off.

“There’s no reason to be arguing over this now,” he said. “What’s done is done, and we need to figure out what’s the best thing to do now.”

Tony smacked his forehead and cursed. “Pepper! Jane! What happened to them?”

Dead silence filled the jet.

“I have no idea,” Clint said. “But, chances are, they’re still in New York City. With the rest of the civilians.”

“We have to go get them out. Get everybody out,” Tony said.

“No,” Clint said. “We’re basically the military. Where the military goes, death happens.”

“So you’re saying we need to sit back and surrender? Just let them have New York?” Tony demanded. 

Clint shook his head. “You don’t understand, Tony. Staying away won’t be surrendering. We’ve already surrendered. We aren’t losing New York; New York is already taken.”

Tony sat thunderstruck for a second, and then let out a great curse, slamming his fist into the table beside him. “What I wouldn’t give for my suit, you cowardly bastards.”

“Not cowardly, Mr. Stark,” Steve said, looking pained. “New York isn’t our priority right now. Right now, we have to prevent this from spreading. Agent Barton?”

Tony sat back nursing his bruised-if-not-broken hand with an infuriated scowl on his face. Clint sent him a few more glares before flicking through more images on the screen. “As far as we know, the Chitauri haven’t gained a firm foothold in London. There are lots of small areas within London, however, that are being barricaded off. There are other areas, small towns, mostly, that the Chitauri have overtaken, in the states bordering New York.”

Tony nibbled on a thumbnail, mostly tuning Clint out, as he pondered the fact that without his suit, he pretty much looked like a regular civilian. Kind of sneaky. And undercover-like.

ɤ

_“Come on, Loki!” Thor demanded.           _

_“Not now,” Loki responded for the fifth time. He stretched out his legs as he sat in the shade of the brush. “You can defeat both Volstagg and Fandral without me.”_

_“Fine.” Thor tossed his head and twirled the stick. “Just sit there and sulk.”_

_“I’m not sulking,” Loki said cheerfully. He watched with a smile as Thor and the other two boys circled each other. Their play-fighting had gotten more systematic as they all got more experienced; the methods of true warriors were coming out in their duals. Thor seemed to have suddenly gotten taller in the past few months, and broader, but his voice was the same, making him look and sound lopsided. Loki had poked fun at his brother for it (“Look, Thor. Father is handsome and strong, and I am young and endearing. But you—you are neither!”), and when Thor had protested (“I am not, Loki!), Loki went down to the kitchens to prove it and sat on a stool eating a cake among hordes of adoring middle-aged women (“You do realize he’s sweet-talking you, don’t you?” “Yes, but he’s so good at it that I don’t mind!” “Just look at those enormous green eyes!”), trying not to smirk while he watched Thor get chased away with a spoon.  _

_Loki pulled at his shirt collar and rolled his neck, trying to get a breeze to cool him. It seemed so much hotter now. After Niflheim. Loki wished he knew how to conjure a snow-bank to roll in. He wondered how difficult that would be._

_His gaze wandered to the trees behind the others. Maybe it was cooler in there. Taller and more widespread, maybe—_

_Loki blinked, and quickly looked away. He pulled at his shirt collar again, and glanced back. She was still there. He stood up as Thor defeated Volstagg, and Fandral defeated Thor in the same instant._

_“Come to join us, Loki?” Thor grumbled, shooting a glare at Fandral, who threw his sword in the air and caught it again with a grin._

_“Don’t look now, but there’s a girl in the forest watching us,” Loki said. Thor looked over his shoulder. “I said don’t look now!”_

_“Why not?” Fandral looked too, and Volstagg scrambled to his feet._

_Thor stepped forward. “Why are you hiding back there?”_

_“I’m not hiding,” the girl came out from the small groove of trees, stepping over the brush. “I’m watching.” She wore a pair of leggings, her skirt pulled up and bound about her waist. Twine roughly bound her long golden curls behind her neck. “You’ve just been too busy fighting to notice me before now.”_

_“Uh...why were you watching?” Thor inquired. Fandral elbowed him._

_“I’ve been watching you for ages now,” she said with a toss of her head. “Ever since my father told my older brother to stop teaching me how to fight.”_

_“Wait—you’ve watched us before today?”_

_She grinned, wickedly. “For ages and ages.”_

_Fandral cocked his head. “Why do you want to learn how to fight?”_

_She raised an eyebrow. “Why do you?”_

_Fandral looked uncomfortable. “But…you’re a girl.”_

_She rolled her eyes and looked at Thor. “Where were you yesterday?” She sounded accusatory._

_“We went to Niflheim with our fathers.” Thor drew himself up. “I am Thor. I went with Odin Allfather.”_

_“I know who you are.” The girl shrugged. “What was Niflheim like?”_

_“Miserable!” Volstagg waved an arm through the air dramatically. “Cold and dry! It was bad enough without Loki making balls out of snow!”_

_“Loki doing what?”_

_Loki grinned at her. “I made balls out of snow and threw them at them.”_

_“You shoved it down the backs of our shirts too!” Fandral grumbled._

_Loki laughed. “It isn’t my fault you are such a squawker when it comes to the cold.”_

_“Oh, I see,” the girl said from behind him. “Like this?”_

_Loki started to turn, and something smacked into the side of his face, warm and stinging and getting into one eye. Thor burst out laughing, and Fandrall and Volstagg followed suit. Loki brushed at his face, and his hand came away covered in wet mud. He blinked it out of his eye and smiled, shaking the glop off of his hand. “More or less.”_

_Thor grinned at the girl. “What’s your name?”_

_The girl tossed her head again, wiping her hand unceremoniously on the excess folds of her skirt. The sunlight glinted on her hair. “Sif. Of the house of Servir.”_

_“Lovely to meet you, Sif. So you want to learn how to fight?”_

_“I already know a little.”_

_“Well, you could learn more if you could actually watch a session.” Thor gestured in the general direction of the training area. “We can get you in there so he can get a good spot to watch!”_

_“Wait, but, Thor?” Volstagg protested, and then to Sif. “Didn’t you say your father didn’t want you to learn how?”_

_Sif shrugged again, and Fandral answered for her. “He can’t protest against her watching fit young men like ourselves bout it out!” Sif raised an eyebrow._

_“Don’t pay any attention to him.” Thor pointed to Loki. “Loki can even sneak some extra boys’ clothes and practice weapons out so we can practice with you!”_

_Loki held up his hands. “What? I don’t want to steal weapons from Master Orvar!”_

_“You wouldn’t be stealing them. We’d be practicing with them, and you can put them back as soon as we’re done.”_

_“Why does it have to be me?”_

_Thor snorted. “Why? Asks the only person around who can turn invisible.”_

_Sif’s eyes widened. “You can turn invisible?”_

_Loki flushed at her gaze and kicked at the dirt. “Yes.”_

_Sif grinned, danger flashing in her eyes. “All right. When should I meet you here tomorrow?”_

_Over Volstagg’s half-hearted protests, they formed a plan. They showed Sif the training area, and Fandral cut out a place in the center of a hedge where she could sit and watch unseen. Their first “practice sessions” went well too. Thor started gently with her, almost timidly, but Sif attacked so aggressively that she actually knocked him down. The dangerous light in her eye came whenever they fought, and Loki came to be a little afraid of her. She was fierce, but one of the prettiest girls he’d ever seen. Most of the times her hair was tied back, but when it wasn’t it flowed everywhere in a glorious, tangled mess. The days passed, and Loki’s heart stopped beating quite so hard every time he took or returned the practice weapons._

_Many days later, Loki slipped into the weapons shed with the laughter of the others growing faint as they left to their play spot to wait for him. He took the weapons from the chest, and stole across the ring. He shoved against the gate, and it swung open. He shut it behind him with his foot and turned around, gasped, and dropped all of the weapons._

_Hogun stood in front of him with his arms crossed. “What are you doing?”_

_Loki was speechless for an instant, as he looked up at the taller boy, ashamed. He swallowed. “We’ve been—we wanted to—practice some more.”_

_“Every day?”_

_“There’s…” Loki hesitated, bending down to gather the weapons back up. “There’s someone else. Who can’t train with us. But wants to learn, so Thor’s been teaching he—them.”_

_Hogun just looked at him, impassive. He didn’t believe him._

_“I can show you,” Loki offered. Hogun nodded. With his face feeling as though it were in flames, Loki led Hogun through the hedges, skirting the courtyards, and to their spot where the voices became audible and got louder._

_“There you are! What took—” Fandral stopped short and Volstagg turned pale as Hogun entered behind him._

_“Loki!” Thor snapped, looking nervous._

_Hogun glanced over their group, coming to rest on Sif, her hair bound back and dressed in Thor’s clothes. She stared back, expressionless, but without fire. She was scared too._

_“Thor has been teaching you?” he asked her, after a long nerve-wracking moment of silence._

_Sif raised her chin. “Yes.”_

_Hogun took two of the wooden swords from Loki and walked forward. He tossed one to Sif and took a fighting stance. Sif stood awkwardly for a moment, and then she copied him._

_They stood like that for several moments, and then Sif attacked. Hogun blocked her with little effort and pushed her back. Her eyes widened, and then her face hardened, the danger flashing in her eyes. Loki crossed his fingers. Then they both darted forward. A tangled, confused mess, that went on for quite some time, and then Hogun flung Sif’s sword away and she backed away, raising her chin again._

_“Impressive.”_

_They all jumped, except for Hogun, who went back to stand by his father. Orvar stood with his arms crossed._

_“This is quite the interesting turn of events. I’ve been wondering where my weapons have been disappearing to.” Orvar gave Loki a sharp glance, and Loki’s face grew hot once more._

_Thor blurted, “Please don’t make her stop, Master Orvar.”_

_Orvar spoke to Sif. “You know that warrior maidens are frowned upon.”_

_Sif tossed her head. “I’m frowned upon anyway.” She gestured up and down at her clothing. “You can chase me away, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop.”_

_Orvar raised an eyebrow. “Speaking respectfully to your elders will get you much further than speaking with disdain,” he said. Sif scowled. “As for chasing you away, I can do no such thing. Prince Thor may choose his own friends. However,” he made a sign to Hogun, and his son began to gather the weapons up. “You may not take these out here.”_

_Sif set her jaw, but said nothing. Thor continued to protest. “But Master Orvar—”_

_“These are not toys, to be used without supervision. However, I teach whomever has permission to be taught.”_

_Thor’s shoulders slumped. “But her father doesn’t…won’t…”_

_Hogun, with the weapons in his arms, waited for his father next to the hedge. Orvar raised his eyebrows. “Is she your friend?” Thor nodded. “And who are you?”_

_Thor looked confused. “I am Thor Odinson.”_

_Orvar nodded, and then he turned and walked away. Hogun gave Thor a pointed look before following his father._

_“Brilliant job, Loki!” Fandral cried as soon as they were out of earshot._

_Thor sighed. “I’m sorry, Sif.”_

_Sif turned and furiously kicked at a tree. “Typical man!”_

_Loki frowned. “Did you not hear what Master Orvar said?”_

_“Yes, of course we heard,” Fandral snapped. “And he said it was impossible for Sif to join in training! And now he won’t let us help her either!”_

_“No, he said Sif was Thor’s friend.” Loki pointed at Thor. “You talk to her father. I think he was saying that it’s not every day somebody’s son or daughter gets chosen as the friend of a son of Odin.”_

_Thor still looked confused. “So?”_

_Loki rolled his eyes. “So you can talk her father into letting her train with us, dimwit.”_

_“That won’t work,” Sif said, turning back around, but with a wild hope in her eyes. Thor looked at her, then at Loki, and then drew himself up._

_“I’ll make it work.”_

_And he did. At first, her presence brought mocking and complaints from the others, but as she soon grew skilled enough to whip whomever challenged her, the mocking faded, and those who did not befriend her avoided her entirely. Hogun started showing up at their hideout as well, silently, giving skilled instruction to all of them, especially Sif, while she still lagged behind. Eventually it came to be that nobody could imagine their group without him._

_And eventually the tables turned again. Thor’s voice and body grew into charming, and Loki’s grew out of enchanting._

ɤ

“It’s gone,” Jane whispered. She touched the screen, rewinding, re-routing the numbers, and it came up the same. “It’s solid again.” She double-checked her math from before, but her own program was still downloading. It wasn’t her. “Pepper.”

No response.

Panicked hope surged through her as she clawed some of her filthy, greasy hair out of her face. There were showers down here, but she’d been too preoccupied to use any of them. “PEPPER!”

Pepper jerked awake from where she sat curled in an armchair. “What? What is it?” Pepper hurried over to her.

“Reality’s stable again.” Jane’s voice quivered from excitement. “There wasn’t a portal this time, but they were still slipping through somehow, but it’s stable again.”

Pepper paled, one hand going to her earpiece which, despite being broken in half, she still wore in her ear. In case a signal could actually reach down here to a broken piece of technology. “We need to go up there,” she whispered. 

Jane nodded. “Whatever’s been going on, it’s over.” 

Pepper pushed Jane out of the way and clicked over to the bunker program controls and terminated. “Jarvis,” she said, whispering still. A few moments later, a very welcome voice spoke to them.

“Wh-h-ha-hat can I d-d-do for you, M-i-i-issss Potts?” Jarvis stuttered. 

Jane felt an inkling of worry poke at her. “Jarvis? Are you okay?” 

“S-o-o-ome of my abilities are damaged, and I am running on back-up se-e-e-ervers now. I can still perform basic functions,” Jarvis said. 

“How long have we been down here?” Jane asked, since Pepper seemed incapable of speaking. Her face was still pale, and Jane wondered if she might faint. Just how worried about Tony and the others had she been the past few days?

“Ei-gh-ght days, two hours, and thirty-six seconds,” Jarvis said.

“Is it safe to go up?” Pepper asked.

“Violent activity is presently mostly non-existent in New York City.”

“Pepper?” Jane put a hand on her arm.

“I’m okay,” Pepper said. Jane didn’t believe her. So she asked Jarvis the question for her.

“Do you know what’s happened to Tony and the others?”

“Mr. Stark and the Aventers are cu-r-r-rently out of contact,” said Jarvis. “B-u-u-ut again, my systems have been da-a-a-amaged.”

“Good enough for me,” Jane tucked her notebook under her arm and lead Pepper over to the elevator, which slid open. Jane flinched in surprise at the startling fact that the entire back wall of the unit was missing. 

Pepper didn’t seem to notice. “First floor, please,” she said, holding one of her wrists and staring hard at her palm as if the fates of the Avengers were written there.

“To pres-e-e-erve my functions,” Jarvis said, “I would suggest that, if at all po-o-o-osible you do things ma-a-a-anually.”

Pepper didn’t react. Jane glanced at her, and then pushed the button for the first floor. The doors slid half-closed—one was missing—and they rose. The ride was longer than Jane remembered it being. Just how far underground had they been?

The doors slid open again and they both stepped out into a trashed, but otherwise undamaged lobby. Even the lights were on. The arc reactor hadn’t failed. Outside, it was night, and mostly dark, but an eerie light illuminated the dark shadows of buildings. The two women looked around them, both feeling a bit at a loss. Pepper didn’t move, so Jane went over to the large front desk. She picked up the plugged-in phone that rested there, but only dead air met her ear when she tried to dial. 

“Phones aren’t working,” she said. Pepper let out a small gasp. Jane turned around and her heartbeat staggered. A Chitauri warrior stood just inside the front doors, brandishing an icy gun. Jane’s hopes plummeted.

_No._

Pepper didn’t hesitate, going down on her knees and holding up her hands, saying in a clear, unfearful voice.

“We surrender.”

Jane, feeling pathetic enough to deserve Loki’s jibes, followed suit, holding one hand in the air, still clutching her notebook with the other. 

The Chitauri warrior gestured at Jane. She frowned, and it squawked.

“What? I don’t know what you’re saying—”

He stalked up to her, passing Pepper, and snatched the notebook out of her hands.

“Hey!” Jane started to jump to her feet, but the warrior struck her back, so hard that the breath left her lungs. Her backside hit the floor. “That’s mine, you thug!” she coughed with what little air remained in her lungs. “Give it back!”

The warrior ignored her, holding the book by its back cover and shaking out its pages. Apparently finding nothing of interest, he tossed to the ground in her direction, and Jane took that as permission to pick it back up. She smoothed its wrinkled, half-dislodged pages and looked up. To her utter astonishment, the Chitauri warrior turned around and left.

Pepper and Jane remained sitting on the floor for a few more moments. 

“What in the world…?” Pepper said at last.

“I’m going outside.” Jane scrambled to her feet. Pepper followed her out of the front door. They tiptoed into the street. Jane glanced to the left and to the right. Cars were parked every-which-way, and most lights were off, though a few buildings still flickered. A single person dodged between trash cans, into an alleyway, far to her right.

Pain shot through Jane’s arm and she flinched. Pepper’s fingers dug into her jacket, staring upwards. Jane looked up as well, and then found herself grasping at Pepper in the same way as adrenaline raced through her limbs.

It looked like the skeleton of another city building off of the base of this one. The networkings and color of the arches made Jane think of a spindly tree-like beehive. 

Pepper had gone pale again. “I think…”

Jane finished her thought, acid burning the back of her throat. “I think we’ve lost.”

“You have not lost,” a voice came from behind them. Jane and Pepper whirled. A tall woman stood there, black pony tail swishing between her shoulder blades, armor glinting. “Not yet.”

“Sif!” Pepper gasped. “Why—what are you doing here?”

Sif; Thor’s friend. Jane put a hand to her pounding heart. 

Sif jerked her head at the tower and turned around. “Come back inside.” 

Jane obeyed her all too gladly; the tower, even when trashed, felt much more like home than a dead, alien New York City. 

Sif sat on the desk. “I came here by Thor’s request,” she said. “To look out for you, or help defend the tower if necessary. After a day of fighting, the battle for the city was lost, as you can see. I had the option of removing myself along with your army, but chose to I remain here, giving up my weapons as the Chitauri required, and have been waiting for you to emerge.”

“How did you know we were in the bunker?” Pepper asked.

“I did not. I guessed. You could not have left the city, and it was unlikely you had left the tower. Jarvis’s answers to my questions were suspiciously veiled as well.”

“We have got to get rid of that cryptic setting,” Pepper murmured.

Jane hopped up onto the desk next to Sif. She would feel embarrassed about Thor thinking she required protection if she hadn’t been so fixed on figuring out the state of the world. “Thor sent you? What is he doing? I mean, we know he told the Chitauri he would help them find Loki but—I know he’s not actually doing that, so what is he up to?”

“Asgard knows as much as you,” Sif answered, running a finger across the wood without looking at Jane. “He told us what he told you. He knows more than he is saying, but from what we can tell, he truly is hunting Loki down.”

By all rights, that shouldn’t make her uncomfortable. But it did; Jane’s throat constricted in something like horror, and not just because of how Thor must be feeling. “So he asked you to come here in his place?”

“Well…” Sif gave her a small smile. “Not in so many words, but I know this is what he would have wanted me to do, if he had had the time to ask.”

“Thanks, I guess…” Jane looked around at the litter strewn across the floor. “But what now?” 

“Now…we wait.”

ɤ

Clint scaled the hospital-turned-base-mostly-for-the-Avengers’-sakes wall to its roof. He settled with his back against a heating unit and looked out over the tumble-down town.

Bruce had complied most-readily with medical treatment—ironic, as he was the one least in need of medical treatment. Steve seemed to be on the edge of a nervous breakdown. He continued to possess knowledge about the current situation that none of them could remember giving, meaning his memory wasn’t completely gone, and he recognized a few people and a few names. But as he put it, he could remember a few facts, but he couldn’t remember reasons. He knew Clint’s name, and had a vague idea about Loki (he remembered the god had black hair), but couldn’t remember why he knew about either of them. 

Clint held some resentment towards Steve because of Loki, but being leaderless was worse than having an irritating leader. Steve apologized to everybody frequently, had complete lapses of memory frequently, had to have information told and re-told to him frequently, and simply sat with his head in his hands frequently. All tests came up empty and bewildering; he was recovering from a busted skull that, by normal person standards, should have killed him. Instead he was having extreme severe brain injury symptoms. He couldn’t keep any food down, and endured excruciating headaches. Tony grumbled that he must be putting it on, he had seemed fine in the cage…and then Bruce pointed out he’d been very asleep/unconscious in the cage.

Tony…Clint avoided Tony at all costs. The billionaire stormed through the hospital, refusing to stay anywhere the doctors told him to, he muttered to himself, he raged, he took on Fury. The fireworks when Fury discovered they’d been harboring Loki were tremendous. Bruce hadn’t wanted to tell him, but they’d agreed that SHIELD needed to know what had probably prompted the Chitauri attack. Tony, on the other hand, had seemed almost eager to break it to Fury. He didn’t seem intimidated or to care at all, and had told the truth with genuine flippancy. His violent mode swings had everybody on their toes; he hurled insults everywhere, and only when he collapsed in an exhausted nap did anybody have any peace.

Natasha was in critical.

Loki. _Loki._ Why in the name of literal sanity did Tony just let him go like that? Didn’t it make sense to anybody else that Thor must be hunting him  because he thought that Loki genuinely needed to be found? That whatever Loki had told him merited his capture by the Chitauri? Clint shouldn’t have tried to kill Loki, like the idiot he was. He should have just told Fury. Talked to the sky/Heimdall. Planned a top-secret ambush to snatch Loki out of the tower and into the most reinforced cell of all time—if not an all-out execution. What good had their dirty little secret done them? He should have just told Fury. He and Natasha. They, unlike the other Avengers, were SHIELD agents, after all. 

SHIELD agents. Why did this whole mess have to unravel this way? He liked his team. He enjoyed being on a team, with team members he knew would watch his back. Loki had already torn them apart—technically before they were together, but still—once. Clint wouldn’t let that happen twice. He wouldn’t. 

His earpiece squawked. “Agent Barton, you’re wanted in room 220 for—”

Clint pulled the device out of his ear and stood. He held it in his hand for a moment, then dropped it onto the roof and methodically ground it to bits underneath his boot. Then he went down to room 220.  

“I was about to send someone to look for you,” Maria Hill said as he entered. 

Clint glanced around at the empty room. “Just you and me today, huh?”

“Why didn’t you respond when I asked you to come?”

Clint sat down and put both feet on the table, leaning back in the rolly chair. “It broke.”

“Broke.” Guessing by the look on her face, she knew good and well what “broke” meant. “Agent Barton, that was SHIELD property.”

“I get tired of answering to every beck and call,” Clint said. He rarely spoke this way, but today he felt too tired to care. “I like to have a few uninterrupted moments alone, and since only half of my teammates can walk right now I figured I would have some down time. But I’m here now, so what do you want?”

Hill sat down in a chair at the head of the table. “I’m here with your next assignment. There is an operative being put together to draw out and engage Chitauri away from civilians. Your job is to fight them and find their weaknesses.”

Clint wanted to wince, but he kept his face impassive. They’d already fought and won a war with the Chitauri. They should know their weaknesses by now. He did know their weaknesses. But who could tell if they were real or not? They had come back, more powerful than before. 

“Okay,” he said. “Why are you only telling me this?”

“It’s your mission,” said Hill. “Yours alone.”

Clint pulled his feet off of the table and set them on the floor, staring into her eyes. “Why only mine?”

“I’ll be blunt, Barton,” Hill said, crossing her arms. “Even if the rest of the Avengers were available to help you, SHIELD would not trust them with this mission. They have proven themselves treacherous and arrogant when it comes to dealing with world security, and, whether they realize it or not, they are in deep trouble. And you, Agent Barton, are very lucky to have that word Agent still in front of your name.”

Clint’s right hand closed around an imaginary bow, like it always did when he got angry. “So why is it?”

“That isn’t my call. Though I suspect it’s primarily because you at least had the sense to try to kill Loki.”

“And Romanov?”

“Romanov’s case is still under question. As she has a history of going her own way, but still has a place in SHIELD, she may be excused from this mess.”

And his wavering loyalties could cost him, the obedient one, his place in SHIELD.

_He would not let it happen twice._

Clint stood up. “I’m not going.”

Hill raised an eyebrow. “Oh yes, you are.”

Clint took his bow from his back and jerked it into place holding it in both of his hands. “The Avengers made rash decisions when it came to Loki. They have no fathomable reason to do the same with the Chitauri.”

“Loki is connected to the Chitauri. He commands their army,” Hill said, her arms still crossed.

“Commanded,” Clint corrected. “And I agree whole-heartedly with SHIELD that the Avengers can’t be trusted with any question that involves Loki. But a mission to go beat up the guys that we whipped last summer is not a question that involves Loki.”

Clint placed his bow on the table and let one hand rest on it while he eyed Hill. “The others are given a choice to come with me, or I’m not going.”

Hill steepled her fingers. “That’s not my call.”

“Then call Fury.” Clint left his bow on the table and walked out of the room.

ɤ

“So you’re really the only female warrior in Asgard?” Jane asked, sitting on the couch with her feet tucked under her thighs, wrapped in a red fuzzy blanket. 

“That depends on what you call a warrior,” Sif said, accepting the bowl of butter-saturated popcorn that Pepper offered her. She had taken out her pony tail and let her hair down about her shoulders. “But yes.”

“Wow.” Jane took a bowl from Pepper as well. “I thought maybe Thor had been exaggerating.”

Sif smiled as she licked butter off of her fingers. “That is not a bad assumption to make.”

Jane laughed. Pepper sat down opposite them in an armchair, pulling a blanket around her shoulders. Not so much because she was cold, but because she felt cold with the darkness outside.

Sif continued. “And I may not have become an esteemed warrior if it had not been for the support of Thor and the others. You can break a good many traditions and accomplish a great deal when you have a prince on your side.”

“You five are pretty close-knit, aren’t you?” Pepper spoke softly.

“Yes, we are.” Sif crunched on a few more kernels. “We have saved each others’ lives too many times to count. It was a rare day that we spent apart, even as we got older and out responsibilities grew.”

Jane looked down at her bowl. “I guess…we’ve kind of stolen him from you, haven’t we?”

Sif smiled again, and put a hand on Jane’s knee. “Not stolen. Only borrowed.” With a somewhat wicked glint in her eye, “After all, we are immortal.”

Jane perked up a bit and slapped Sif’s hand. “No you’re not. Thor told me so, and he doesn’t lie.”

Sif laughed. “No, he does not. And technically we are not.”

Jane shoved another handful of popcorn into her mouth. “Speaking of lies, where did Loki fit into your group? Thor makes out that he was there all the time.”

Sif’s smile faded and she folded her hands in her lap, looking at the floor. Pepper watched her face. “When I first befriended the others, Loki seemed to be a permanent fixture, but he was never—he was more like an extension of Thor. He was always there. You could not have one without the other, and we all accepted that.” Sif paused and took a drink out of a glass. “But he eventually just…faded into the background and withdrew from us. But he was still an extension of Thor.”

“So he was just Thor’s quiet little shadow?”

Sif suddenly laughed. “No he was not! He was exasperating! But Thor adored him.”

“He was exasperating?” Jane grinned. “How so?”

“He would eternally torment us with tricks and tauntings. If his feelings were ever hurt, or he felt that something was unjust, he would reach his own conclusions as to how to fix it—and that was usually another person’s humiliation. Even after he stopped being with us so much, he continued to try to fool us and prove his own intellectual superiority.” Sif tossed her hair to the side and ran her fingers through it. “My hair did not used to be black.”

Pepper raised her eyebrows. Jane blinked. “It didn’t?”

“No. It used to be golden, much like Thor’s, and curly. Everyone I knew admired it.”

“What happened?” Jane asked, half-smiling, half-confused.

“Loki changed it.” Sif looked amused. “He cut off most of it while I slept one night, and when it grew back it was black.”

Pepper frowned as she watched Sif’s face. 

Jane laughed. “Why on earth would he do that?”

“He was jealous,” Sif said. “And he was angry with me; not entirely without reason.”

Jane rubbed her forehead. “I can’t get my head around Loki being normal once.”

Sif smiled, almost softly. “He never was.”

Jane ran her finger along the bottom of her bowl and hopped up. “I’m going to go see if I can find some non-torn-open hot chocolate envelopes. Be back in a second.” She picked her way among the torn cushions and broken glass out of the room.

Sif smiled down at her bowl as she ran her fingers across it and licked off the excess butter, a lost light in her eyes.

“I think you liked him,” Pepper said, suddenly, and without thinking.

Sif glanced up, the light faltering. “What?”

“Loki,” Pepper said. “I think you liked him.”

Sif looked back down and continued licking her fingers. After a moment she said, “There were times I hated him, but yes, I counted him as a friend.”

Pepper knew she might be goading an Asgardian to wrath, but she didn’t feel like she could stop now. “I don’t mean like that. I mean…” How was it that Thor always described it? “I think that maybe you—loved him a little.  The way a woman loves a man.”

Sif didn’t move, except for an almost imperceptible tightening of her fingers around the bowl. So Pepper kept talking. She kept seeing Loki in her mind; the way he’d looked after Sif had taken Thor back to Asgard, standing behind the couch, expression blank and lost.

“And I think he maybe loved you back.”

Sif’s gaze shot up, her lips stiff and frozen. “Please make your assumptions more carefully,” she said, voice deadly quiet.

“I’m assuming this because, for a long time, Tony and I were the same way. Reluctant, poorly-hidden crushes.”

Sif put down the bowl, the hostility fading from her voice. “There was a time. And there was a time with Thor as well. It is the same on Midgard, is it not? Every maiden at some point believes herself to love the princes of the world.”

“Yes, but based on your own accounts, the maidens of Asgard did not often fall in love with Loki.”

A half-hearted smile tugged on one corner of Sif’s mouth. 

Pepper made one last try. “And, I think he maybe still loves you a little. And that you love him a little too.”

The smile once again faded from Sif’s face and she looked up, leaning back against the couch and running one hand over her face. “No,” she said, tiredly. “I can’t believe what you say about Loki at all, and I certainly do not…your assumption about me is certainly not true now.”

“I’m sorry,” Pepper lowered her eyes. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“It’s all right,” Sif said. “I’m rather surprised. You are the only one to ever—make such assumptions. But what went on in Asgard a few years ago is a different, long-lost life for all of us now.”

Pepper nodded, pulling the blanket more tightly around her. 

“You are worried for Tony, aren’t you?” 

Pepper nodded again. “Yes. For all of them.”

“Do not be,” Sif said. “From what Asgard has seen, and from what Thor relates, you Midgardians do not go down so easily. There is a fight still to be fought and won. They will return and free this city, and the world as well. Meanwhile…”

Jane re-entered the room with three mugs of steaming brews. “Meanwhile what?” she asked.

Sif gave them both a wicked, terrifying, thank-heavens-she’s-on-our-side warrior’s smile. “Meanwhile, who is to say we innocent women cannot sabotage the Chitauri from the inside?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the spectacular comments, lovelies. I love hearing from you. <3
> 
> Next week: Humans never did take invasions sitting down. And Loki discovers that the night has a darker shadow.


	10. Churn

“I feel like we’re crawling around Chernobyl,” Pepper said in a low voice as she stepped over a small pile of bricks. A window high up on a building across the street reflected soft pink morning light, tinged with orange, into her eyes.

“Hopefully we won’t get radiation poisoning,” Jane muttered back. Sif walked ahead of them with an easy swing in her gate, circling around abandoned cars and an overturned trashcan. Pepper looked up at what little sky could remain to be seen through the layers of gold and platforms. With the utter absence of Human and Chitauri in the streets, she wondered what kinds of houses the aliens were building above their heads. 

Jane grabbed Pepper’s elbow. Pepper flinched, and then did her best to quell the twist in her stomach as she made eye contact with the Chiaturi warrior standing on one corner. Sif didn’t even slow, or look in his direction; she simply continued forward. The warrior started to move forward, weapon raised, and then it appeared to change its mind and it stopped again. Pepper looked away, forcing her speed to remain constant.

 _Not guilty of anything, not guilty of anything, not guilty of anything._ She chanted in her head. _Yet._

They left the warrior behind. Pepper looked up again. Getting further from the utter chaos of inner Manhattan, the huge golden beams from the Chitauri city reached lower, sliding down and attaching to the walls of skyscrapers and businesses. When Pepper looked back down, Sif had stopped walking and was waiting for them in the middle of an intersection. When they reached her, Sif gave them a pointed look and then jerked her head to the right. Down that street, the Chitauri city supports thickened, criss-crossing over the street. One slender beam reached across about twenty-five feet above the ground.

“I need a distraction,” Sif hissed. 

“What?” Jane began. “What are you—?”

Without waiting for her to finish, Sif turned and raced back up the street in the direction they’d come. Pepper and Jane looked at each other.

Jane sighed. “I wonder if all Asgardians are this impulsive.” She turned to the right. They skirted a portion of the street that seemed to have caved in on itself. On a corner, under the low beam, stood another warrior.

Pepper stopped. “I really hope that by ‘distraction’ she didn’t mean us causing a ruckus.”

“Let’s try talking first.” Jane raised a hand. “Hey! Excuse me!” The warrior turned and held up its weapon. 

“Can we ask you something?” Pepper called, frantically searching for a probable question.

“I don’t know if you can understand us, but—”

The warrior stalked towards them, the weapon brightening with a blue glow. Jane sucked in her breath. “Oh, gosh.”

With the shot of adrenaline, Pepper’s brain kicked into high gear. “Let’s get on our knees.”  They both dropped down, hands upheld. The warrior slowed, and its weapon came down slightly.

 “I don’t know if you can understand us,” Jane repeated, the slight tremor in her voice clearing. “But we were kind of wondering—what exactly the rules are. Do you, um, mind if we’re out walking around? We have to buy food and stuff, so, what exactly is the protocol here?”

“We don’t want any trouble,” Pepper added, and then she did her best not to gasp, choosing instead to snap her jaw shut. Behind the warrior, Sif raced full speed towards them, leaping effortlessly around the cars. Then she leapt up onto one of the cars, fully bending down in a crouch, and launched herself upwards. Pepper could hardly believe her eyes as Sif flew twenty feet in the air and caught hold of the beam, swinging herself up on top of it. Pepper could have sworn that she winked at them before climbing further up into the beams and disappearing.

Jane had taken to miming their request, and after a few minutes, the warrior seemed to understand their gist. It shrugged, babbled something, and waved its hand in a dismissive manner.

“I think that means they don’t care if we kind of go about our daily lives,” Jane analyzed.

Then the warrior pointed at them, made a pounding motion with his fist, and then cut his hand across his own throat.

“Aaand that means so long as we don’t make trouble.” Her face twitched.

Pepper inclined her head, raising her hands again. “Thank you. Thank you very much,” she said to the warrior. “We greatly appreciate your help.”

They got to their feet and the warrior turned back to its duties.

“I admire your groveling capabilities,” Jane growled, her face contorting in anger. 

“Thanks, I guess,” Pepper said. “You have to learn how to grovel when you work with the government a lot.”

“So what do we do?” Jane glanced to either side. “Wait for her here?”

“I don’t think we can,” Pepper said, then added, “Did you see how high she jumped?”

“I guess that’s what they do when they can’t fly,” Jane said. 

They explored some more of the city, having been given permission by the warrior, and they didn’t meet with any trouble. When they returned to the tower a few hours later, Sif was waiting for them. Jane immediately sped up, and shoved her face into Sif’s.

“Please don’t do that ever again without telling us first.”

Sif blinked, and then smirked. “I will do my best to give you fair warning,” she said smoothly as she led them back inside.

“What happened? What did you find?” Jane pressed.

Sif cleared a table of papers with a sweep of her arm. “It is larger than it looks from down here. Their city rises very high, and there are tunnels and pathways that run into and through each other.” She withdrew something from a pouch at her belt. “And I took this.” The thing she set down on the table let out a loud _thunk_ of something extremely heavy. She took her hand away. It was the size of a small, elongated potato and the color of black mold that grows on old bread.

“What is that?” Jane snatched it up—or, she tried. She had to adjust her grip to actually lift it. “What is this thing?”

Sif sat on the table. “That is what their city is made of.”

“That looks nothing like it.” Pepper watched as Jane pulled over a cart of instruments and started poking the sample with a rod. “They aren’t going to be upset you stole it, are they?”

“They won’t know. I carved it off of a wall.”

“You must have some knife.” 

Sif shook her head, taking a knife from her sleeve and spinning it in her hand. “No. It was malleable then.”

“What—”

“Great Scott.” Jane looked up. “This thing is organic.”

“Organic? It’s alive?” Pepper looked at the apparent lump of metal with suspicion.

“Not anymore.” Jane leaned her chin on her hand and stared at Sif.

“I cut it from their wall,” Sif repeated. “They aren’t building a city. They are growing one.”

“Growing…” Pepper repeated. She rolled the not-rock over, feeling the cold hardness of it. “So, this is the dead version of their gold?”

“So it seems.” Sif hopped off the table and went to peer back outside. “They grow their city, and when it is completed, it dies and becomes unbreachable.”

Chills ran down Pepper’s spine. “So what is it, exactly?”

“I don’t know.” Sif leaned against the front window. “I know nothing about it.”

“Loki might,” Jane muttered, preoccupied again with the sample.

It was a moment before Sif answered. She didn’t move a muscle. “Yes, Loki may.”

Jane shot off the round of questions. “How is this thing growing? How can it possibly be growing so fast? What’s its energy source?” 

Sif stirred, turning back around. “I don’t know.”

“Well then, girls,” Pepper rubbed her hands together. “I think we need to plan another outing.”

ɤ

Bruce scratched behind his ear as he peered out through the bushes, watching the outpost. These darn mosquitoes couldn’t seem to be deterred by any form of bug spray. And they didn’t give up after twilight ended, like most. He estimated to be wearing about five different layers of various expensive brands, and _still_ …

He scratched his chin next, raking his fingernails through the scruffy hair. He never did like having a beard, but it had been a long time since any of them had had the time to shave, or a place to do it. One of these days, life would go back to normal and such things as hot showers, fluffy pillows, and elegant coffee would exist again—heck, he even felt that he could do murder even for instant coffee.

Tony’s voice sounded in his ear. “Hawkeye, you up there yet?”

No response.

“Cap, you in position?”

Still no response.

“Hulky, what about you?”

Bruce scratched his elbow. “Yes. Are you?”

A short silence. Bruce raised an eyebrow.

“Pretty much.”

Bruce sighed to hide the amused spin he wanted to put on his words. “Tony.”

“Hey, I can see much better from up here.”

“Up?” Bruce glanced at the sky over the outpost. “Uh, Tony, how ‘up’ are you?”

“Not very ‘up’. I’m still in tree cover. Hawkeye, how much longer am we gonna have to wait?”

“Hopefully a good while longer,” Bruce said, rubbing his forehead, and then scratching it. “Because if you aren’t in position by the time he is, the whole thing could go to pieces.”

“Oh, all right, all right, fine.” Tony grumbled. “Worrywart.” 

Bruce didn’t respond, holding his breath as a Chitauri warrior emerged from the woods to his right, passing about a foot and a half in front of him and walking towards the town-turned-golden-chocolate-kiss. Their horribly recognizable architecture started at the outskirts, and then got taller, entwined together, as it reached the center. Electricity-generated lights flickered in the town. That was one of the new perks of living in a Chitauri-occupied place.

“Mr. Stark, Mr. Banner,” Steve’s hushed voice came through. “Are you in position?”

“Yep,” said Bruce.

“More or less,” said Tony.

“Mr. Stark?”

“I’m in position,” Tony said, and Bruce wondered if he was lying. 

Then Hawkeye’s voice came through. “On my mark. In ten.”

The silent countdown. Bruce glanced around for any warriors, and seeing none, carefully aimed his laser through the trees, flickering it on and off. The light reflected back to him.

Bruce got up into a crouched, runner-style position, taking deep, measured breathes. Currently, Hulking out was not in the plan. He was just there in case there was a need for plan B. He lifted a hand from the ground and quickly scratched behind his right ear again.

The ten seconds ended. Spouts of fire with deafening booms shot up through the golden branches, reflecting brilliantly off the surfaces until the whole town glowed orange. Bruce waited five more seconds, and then took off at a sprint across the open field, pulling a Tony-dubbed supertaser from his belt. 

He darted past the first house, heard the click, and he dropped to the ground while the bolt of blue energy—Tony-dubbed blu-ray—whooshed over his head and made a scorched mark on the pavement. He rolled back onto his feet and shot the supertaser. The warrior made choking sounds as bolts of electricity vibrated through its armor until it dropped to the ground, looking a little scorched itself. 

Bruce ran again, the next cartridge automatically clicking into place. 

“Move, move, move!” Steve suddenly yelled. Tony whizzed over Bruce’s head as they neared the rendezvous point. 

“Steve! What’s going on in there?” Tony hollered.

“Move!” Steve yelled in response. Bruce pushed himself harder, and finally the dome-shaped building came into view. Unfortunately, so did a hoard. 

Hawkeye jumped out of the shadow of the building as Bruce and Tony approached, and the garage-like doors opened a few feet. Tony flew in sideways, Bruce rolled under into blackness and Hawkeye followed suit. The doors slammed down behind them.

Bruce pushed himself up, panting, as a thousand locks clicked into place and the lights flickered on. 

“Well that’s just great.” Tony landed and pushed the clunky, grey, awkward mask up to reveal his face. “I don’t think I like being on Fury’s red-shirt team.”

Something clanged against the doors, sending vibrations through the building.

“They won’t risk forcing their way in,” Steve said, letting his gear slide off of his shoulders onto the ground. “This place can explode too easily.”

“Wait, what?” Tony said. “Chitauri weapons don’t just explode when jostled.”

“No, but there are more than Chitauri weapons here,” Steve said, slicking back some sweat-damp hair. 

“It’s a full-on every-weapon-you-can-think-of weapons vault,” Hawkeye muttered, notching another arrow while he eyed the doors that let out another clang. 

“The others will still be coming,” Bruce said. “We can’t just hide in here and leave them hanging to be picked off by the Chitauri.”

“Who said we would?” Steve pointed to the racks of weapons hanging from the ceiling and walls and shelves rising from the floor. “We continue as planned. Let’s grab our things and go.”

Bruce wondered if “as planned” was now Plan B. He went to a round shelf that spun on its axel like one of those jewelry displayers in a supermarket. He ran his fingers over the sleek casing of a huge flame-thrower-looking thing, and then a much smaller, hand-held pistol-like weapon.

“Just one of each,” Steve reminded them as they all spread out through the gym-like building, each taking a specimen from the different groupings. It really would be so much simpler if they’d been able to find something the Chitauri were vulnerable to that wasn’t their own weapons and surprise-assault-supertasers.

They piled their findings in the middle of the room, and then spent a few minutes hooking and strapping as many as they could onto their bodies/makeshift clunky Iron Man-ish suit. 

Then the ground began quaking. 

“Uh…” Bruce laughed nervously.

Questions and demands began pouring from their earpieces as the leader of the group outside began hollering at them. 

“What’s going on in there? Are you finished yet? We need to get out of here, explosions will only detain them for so long!”

Cracks spread through the concrete floor. Bruce stared at it, frowned, and then looked up. “I think they’re coming from underneath.”

Hawkeye locked eyes with Steve and the captain nodded.

“Miller, it’s Plan B,” he said into the earpiece, and nodded at Bruce. “We’re blasting our way out of here.”

Hawkeye looked uncertain. “Are you sure? We didn’t know this place was so susceptible to exploding on top of us—”

A huge fissure spreading across the floor put an end to his protest. The trembling made the hanging weapons swing back and forth, eerily. 

“In twenty,” Hawkeye said, and the Avengers grouped together, Bruce crouching a few yards in front of them, taking deep breaths. The elastic bands that held his weapons would expand with him, so as long as he didn’t break them while, uh, smashing…

Hawkeye opened the detonator and his finger hovered over the trigger.

“Captain, I have a confession to make,” Tony said as dust began raining down on their heads. “I’m sorry for saying this now but I didn’t want to die in a cellar with it unsaid. I love you. I’ve always loved you, and I always will, and –”

“Shut up, Tony,” Steve said, readying his shield, his eyes fixed on the wall ahead of them. And that was the most Steve-like thing Bruce had heard him say in weeks. 

“Now,” Hawkeye said, and Bruce let go.

ɤ

Jane crouched in the corner of the abandoned shop with her reader on her knees and a rifle propped against the wall. Pepper stood near the doorway, peering out at the dimming streets, a pistol in her hand.

Jane didn’t like being out here alone, as the police were no longer in existence. She didn’t think twice about the sound of shattering glass a couple blocks away. Lootings were a part of life. Fortunately, this little store was empty and not likely to be a target. A few makeshift shops had opened now, and a bartering system cropped up as the remaining citizens of New York struggled to rebuild some sort of economy. Pepper had bought semi-fresh tomatoes yesterday. They had been delicious.

Jane adjusted the knobs on the side of the deice, the power cords about her feet tangling into knots as they all fought their way across the floor, through extension cords, to the power outlet. Sif held the other, wireless end to this device as she climbed around above their heads. 

Another window shattered.

“I miss law enforcement,” Pepper muttered. Jane tucked a renegade piece of hair behind her ear, watching the readings waver. 

“She’s getting pretty far away,” Jane said. “2.3 miles now.”

“Horizontally or vertically?”

“Diagonally.” The lines jumped, and then went flat. Jane twisted the knob again. “No, wait, Sif, go back…that was good…I think?” Sif was supposed to be placing her wireless box where possible energy sources seemed to originate. The lines jumped higher, and then went flat again. Jane sighed, rubbing her eyes. 

“You okay?” Pepper glanced at her.

Jane tried to clear her clogged throat. “Coffee,” she said. “I really want coffee.”

They waited in silence again, until Pepper jerked with a gasp, the gun clicked, and a soft voice said, “Please don’t. It’s me.”

Jane jumped up as Sif ducked through the doorway. 

“Did you find it?” Jane asked, holding out the screen of calibrating readings. “There were several points there that look promising. Tell me where each of these were, what you saw, and we might be able to deduce something.”

Sif put her hands on the store’s counter and leaned over, her hair flopping to one side.

“Sif, are you all right?” Pepper lifted one hand, and Jane suddenly noticed the clot over her ear and the trickle of blood over her temple.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Dead men tell no tales.” Sif straightened, waving away the reader and setting down her wireless end. “It’s no use. This material does not have a natural source.”

“What?” Jane and Pepper chorused.

Sif shook her head. “I may not be the most magical of Asgardians, but I can tell when energy and strength is coming from nowhere.”

“This thing is growing without any outside influence?” Jane demanded.                  

“None that I can see,” Sif said. “It’s…well.” She shook her head. “It’s growing exponentially with no way to live. It’s a flower in outer space with no air to breathe, but it is not only surviving, it’s thriving.”

Jane chewed the inside of her lip as she looked back down at the readings, determined to calibrate them anyway. “Okay. What about the layout?”

ɤ

Thor was exhausted. These trails, so tangled, led nowhere. They didn’t make sense. They would find a place Loki had been, follow his travels over the Realm, and then he would vanish again. Entirely. And they would lose him for weeks until he would finally show up again. The Other glowered fiercely every time this happened, but he couldn’t complain. Thor was a great help whenever they picked up a trail. They simply couldn’t find a steady one.

Thor’s heart ached for Earth. He knew the Chitauri would not let up on their assault, and he wished desperately that he could be back there, helping his friends. Or at the very least, he wished Asgard would go to their assistance. But Asgard currently could not. The war with Jotunheim had finally been renewed, and the Other had made some not-so-veiled threats about bringing the other Realms, like Svartalfheim, against Asgard if Asgard dared to interfere. The balance and alliances within the Realms had been disrupted by the arrival of a new enemy. Their situation was precarious. A Realm-wide war would likely devastate Earth even more than their current war with the Chitauri. 

But where was Loki going? Thor could not figure it out. He told the Other that Loki could disappear entirely, from sight, smell, and hearing, and sometimes even touch, but that still didn’t make sense, because the magic he would use to do that would still leave a scent for the Chitauri to follow. The loopholes and staggered alliances made Thor’s head hurt. 

Until one day, a memory and a realization slammed into Thor’s consciousness, and he immediately wished it hadn’t.

_“I’ve seen worlds you’ve never known about! I have grown, Odinson, in my exile.”_

Of course the Chitauri had come from beyond the Nine Realms. Thor had known that ever since they had first shown up in New York. But he had only thought of Loki’s enraged speech in reference to finding and making alliances with the Chitauri, and nothing beyond that. 

It hadn’t occurred to him until now that Loki may have figured out a way to go back without the help of the cube.

ɤ

Bruce woke up back at the hospital, lying in a bed. At first he couldn’t remember which mission it was that had landed him here, but faint, chaotic memories trickled back to him as he stared up into the darkness. A machine beeped, low and steady, to his right side. He still felt utterly exhausted, dehydrated, and hungry, like he always did, and he felt like he simultaneously had a massive hangover, which was also entirely normal.

It wasn’t normal to have bandages around his right arm and leg, though. Bruce wiggled his fingers and toes and winced. Burns. They must have come from the weapons, or the explosions, or both. He couldn’t remember receiving them, but they must have been too much for even the Hulk to handle.

Bruce turned his head. Natasha lay in a bed next to him. It was from her headboard that the beeping ensued. Her eyes opened and she smiled a little.

“How are you?” Bruce asked her. When the electricity went out, the team had panickedly and hurriedly put together a few generators, while Natasha nearly went into both cardiac and respiratory arrest while they struggled to get her life support machines going again. Tony grumbled about not being allowed to fix the electricity, but Fury said they needed to stay inconspicuous.

“Same as always. How are you?”

“Okay, I guess. I think I got caught in explosions.”

“Yeah, you did. And it actually wasn’t the Hulk; you had one of your Chitauri weapons go off underneath your feet after you’d de-Hulked.”

“Oh,” Bruce winced. “Was anyone else caught in it?”

“It was just you. They told me they set you down to fight off a group, and its cracked casing failed.”

Firey sensations snaked along his side, and Bruce did his best to ignore it. Natasha was still in great pain, though the only person she’d personally admitted it to was Clint. Her slash had physically healed, and she had mostly recovered from the multiple infections that had come along with it, but there was something else wrong with her that no one could decipher. She remained weak, sometimes feverish, and her organs had trouble working on their own.

It didn’t take long to guess that she had been injected with something other than knock-out drugs. 

“I guess we got away then?” Bruce asked. That was one thing he hated about reverting to the Hulk; he often had to wait a long time to learn all that he had missed. Sometimes the information was quite important, and he often looked like an idiot at debriefing meetings if people didn’t know he had this memory problem.

“Mm-hm. Three casualties though, two minor SHIELD agents and Miller. If I had ten dollars to bet, I would bet you ten dollars that Stark is having a heyday playing with those things you brought back.”

“I wouldn’t bet against you even if you did have ten dollars, ‘cause I think you’re probably right.” Bruce turned his face back to the ceiling and closed his eyes.

ɤ

“I have them!” Pepper gasped in a joyful whisper. “Sif! Jane! I have them!”

“I believe you to be correct, Miss Potts,” Jarvis confirmed as the two women ran to lean over her shoulder at the computer. They’d managed to get rid of Jarvis’s speech impediment by re-routing most of the energy from the Arc reactor to a single floor. 

“Where are they?” Jane asked.

Pepper pointed at the screen. “A hospital somewhere in the middle of the Kansas prairie.”

“How do you know it’s them?” Jane asked.

Jarvis explained. “The codes and signals emanating from that place match the SHIELD signals from previous phone conversation and communications. It is the most likely place for the Avengers to be staying.” 

“Call them!” Jane asked. “Do you have some sort of video-calling thing on this computer?”

“Yes, but do they?” Pepper rubbed her forehead.

“I may be able to recognize a specific number if my sensors’ sensitivity is heightened,” Jarvis said.

Jane tapped Pepper’s shoulder. “Here. Let me try.” 

Pepper slid over and Jane sat down in front of the computer, hands flying across the screens. “I think we need to cut all electricity and heating, except for what this computer’s using,” she said. “If we concentrate it enough, we can penetrate the cloud that the Chitauri are using to block our phone signals.”

Pepper turned to Sif. “Can you grab those codes we’ve printed up?” 

Sif nodded and walked across the room to pick up the large rolls of paper. The lights flickered out, and Jane’s face was illuminated by blue light.

“How’s that, Jarvis?” Jane asked. Sif returned and stood behind them with the papers in her arms.

“Roving now, Miss Foster,” Jarvis said. 

Pepper nibbled on one nail. After all of this literal blood sweat and tears, after all of this adrenaline-pumping sneaking throughout the city, surviving Chitauri and Human thugs alike, after multiple Chitauri-city-studying, after all they’d been through with no showers and no descent food or coffee—they sure had better have something to show for it.

 “I believe I have picked up a number.”

“Call it! Call it!” Pepper and Jane chorused. Jarvis obliged, and a phone symbol appeared on the screen as it rang. 

Somebody picked up. “Who is this?” A rude voice asked.

Pepper never thought she would be so glad to hear that voice. “Nick!” she cried.

“Who the hell is this?” the voice barked.

Jane took over, her face bright and eager. “Nick Fury, this is Jane Foster, Pepper Potts, and the Lady Sif of Asgard.”

“What! Where are you people?”

Pepper and Jane both tried to speak at once. Pepper won out. “We’re in NYC in the tower still. Who all is there, Nick? Where are the Avengers?”

“They’re all here except Thor of course, though whether they’ll still be the Avengers or not is still under question, you bunch of idiotic bastards.”

The insult didn’t dampen their spirits, as both Pepper and Jane let out squeals of joy.

Suddenly, “Son of an effing—have you been tapping in again?”

Some noise came out of the background, and then a very loud, very familiar voice made Pepper collapse back into the chair.

 “Nicholas! Give me the phone!”

“That’s Director Fury to you, Stark!”

“Give me the phone, Cyclops!” A loud boom echoed out of the speakers. Then, “Pepper?”

“Hi Tony,” Pepper said, laughing and on the verge of tears from relief. 

Jane pushed into the conversation. “I hate to break up the happy reunion, but I don’t know how long our connection will hold. Tony, we have some information to give you.”

“Hot diggity! What have my three favorite girls been up to? Hold on, let me put you on speaker. Nicholas, get some techs in here. Okay, what have you got?”

“We’ve been scouting out the Chitauri’s city,” Jane said. “And we have a pretty detailed plan by now; how it’s structured, and what some weak points might be. We have the files here, and we can send them over if you’ll give us something to send them to.”

“Hold on. Give me that. Somebody grab those extension cords, and get me the camp oven. And some pliers. And a Snickers bar while you’re at it; I’m hungry. Okay Foster, I’m going to talk you through this. What’s the state in the tower?”

“We have two of the second floor data processors working, and Jarvis.”

“That’s all?” Tony sounded distressed, but the next moment his tone lightened and he said cheerfully, “No biggie. But to penetrate the cover I’ll have to talk you through hooking them together.” 

Pepper left the tech-talk to Jane and Tony, while she simply sat with her chin in her hands, trying to not have an emotional breakdown, and listening to the sounds of familiar voices. Sif became Jane’s go-fer, fetching a dead cell phone, a ceramic mug, and a toaster. 

 “What is all of this clamor?” A new voice that Pepper didn’t recognize came out of the speakers. Sif stiffened. “Are you all engaging in festivities and did not inform us?”

“Sort of, don’t interrupt us,” Tony said.

Sif put a hand on the desk. “Fandral? Is that you?”

“What! Lady Sif!” The voice said joyfully. “Are you there as well? So you did go to Midgard! And without telling us!”

“Yes, but what are you doing here?” Sif almost sounded harsh, but the fond smile on her face indicated her sentiment was otherwise.

“Did you really think we would let you take this adventure on your own?” Another new voice said, and Sif’s grin broadened. 

“Are you all three here?”

“No, just Volstagg and I,” Fandral said. “Unfortunately—the war with Jotunheim has been renewed, Sif. Hogun stayed behind to help defend Asgard.”

Sif’s smile left, and her fingers tensed on the desk. “I see.”

The other voice, Volstagg apparently, said, “They do not think that the repercussions of the war with Jotunheim itself will be severe, but—”

The sound from the computer suddenly cut out. Jane leaned forward. “Tony?”

It cut back in. “We’re losing contact,” Tony said.

“Are you getting the files?”

“Yes, but we only have a few more seconds.”

Pepper leaned forward as well. “Tony is everybody okay over there?” 

“Everybody’s fine. We’re hurting, but alive, and still fighting. If you girls can get out of there, excellent. If not, just stay put and don’t do anything stupid. We’ll come get you.”

“Ask Sif to stay and do nothing rash?” Fandral said. “Are you mad?” 

“Oh, please.” Sif rolled her eyes.

“Don’t you do anything stupid either, Tony,” Pepper said quietly, touching the corner of the screen as if the touch could reach him. “And all of you be good.”

“Will do. Keep your shirt on, Potts.”

A confused Volstagg began, “What does—”

The transmission cut. Sif remained with her hand on the desk, head bowed. 

Jane leaned back in her chair with a sigh. “Well, that was exciting, informative, and relieving and worrying all at the same time.”

Pepper swallowed and looked up at Sif. Jane powered down the computers and turned the lights back on. “What was it your friends said about war with Jotunheim?”

Sif blinked and looked up, seeming to shake herself from her thoughts. “It’s—” 

She didn’t finish, because with a crash a large portion of the outer wall collapsed in on itself and Chitauri warriors flooded into the room. Jane let out a short scream, jerking backwards so hard that her chair tipped over. Sif snatched it up, shaking Jane out as if she were a rag doll, and smashed it into the computers, shattering the glass and smashing through the casing that held the hard drives.

“Sif! Nothing stupid, remember?” Pepper stepped in front of her, facing the advancing warriors with both of her hands raised, her head bowed and shoulders slumped. Groveling again. Innocent, compliant bystanders, take whatever they wanted, they wouldn’t resist—

A cold, reptilian-like claw clamped around her wrist and jerked her down. Pepper’s knees hit the ground, and she heard, rather than felt, her wrist snap. She gasped.

Sif bounded in front of her and with a yell smashed the arm of the Chitauri warrior, tossing him backwards as if he weighed no more than Jane.

“Sif—” she managed, adrenaline rushing through her. Sif stopped fighting and swept Pepper off of the ground with one arm, grabbed Jane with the other, and pulled them back against the opposite wall. She deposited them both in a corner, picked up a broken lampstand that lay on the ground, and stood in front of them.

The Chitauri surrounded them in front. Sif made no aggressive movements, but held one arm out to the side. 

“Do not touch these women,” she said in a low, dangerous voice.

The Chitauri snarled at them, and said something that wasn’t in English. 

“Take what you want, do what you want with this place,” Sif said. “But do not touch these women.”

The Chitauri said something else. Pepper cradled her wrist as Jane whispered to her, “Is it just me, or do they actually understand what Sif is saying?” Pepper didn’t answer. 

“If you suspect us, then destroy whatever you wish,” Sif said. “So that we may never cross you again.”

Pepper winced. The Chitauri had cut their signal. Sif must have realized it before her, and that was why she had destroyed the computers. Destroying the evidence.

The Chitauri said something else, and Sif stiffened, her grip tightening.

“Nothing stupid!” Pepper whispered. 

Sif glanced back at her, and then lowered the lampstand, loosening her fingers and letting it fall to the floor. Three warriors leapt forward and collided with her, smashing her into the wall. Jane and Pepper both jumped forward with shocked cries, but more Chitauri surrounded them with aimed weapons and they froze.

Pepper watched with horror clogging her throat as the Chitauri pinned Sif to the wall, hands shoved against her head and neck, one leaning close and snarling into her face. Sif took it without blinking, her jaw clenched and expression hard. Fearless.

Then they let her go, and spread about the room, ransacking it again. Sif did not move from her place against the wall until they’d finished smashing every object in the room, and left through the doors or holes in the walls to the rest of the floor. Then she lifted one hand and swiped some saliva from her cheek.

“Brutes,” she said. Then she looked back at Jane and Pepper. “I believe our information-gathering tours are finished. They are not going to allow us to leave this tower.”

ɤ

Steve sat in a corner in his dark room, pressing a wet cloth over his eyes and temples. 

Losing your memories didn’t feel the way everybody thought. The first days in that cell, which he also couldn’t remember much of, he hadn’t really believed Dr. Banner that he was experiencing amnesia. But after his mind cleared, he realized that there were things—missing. He didn’t remember events after going into the ice, but that didn’t mean his older memories took their place. Those weren’t clear. They didn’t feel like yesterday. They felt a few years old. They felt distant. Because they were. 

There was a huge gap in his head, he could feel it, and it was driving him insane _._

Steve sighed and sat up, cautiously taking the cloth away. His headache immediately redoubled, so he lay back down and put the cloth back on, after re-dipping it in the cold bowl of water that sat beside his bed. 

Trying to remember became an obsession. Once he started, he couldn’t stop; only try to pry deeper until something managed to jerk him back out of his own mind. His memories weren’t entirely gone; he remembered flashes. When people talked about things that he didn’t recognize, he sometimes got pictures along with them. His strangest reaction had been to somebody called Coulson. Stark had mentioned his name, and Steve instantly felt a wave of grief, even though he had no idea who the man was.

One of his fans, as Stark explained to him later. His hurried explanation hadn’t made much sense—vintage cards, blood, team-building, and trying take on a god by himself—but it made Steve feel guilty about not being able to remember. 

And there were flashes of other things, things that surfaced at the strangest of times. Before they had lost the electricity, Steve had been in the kitchen making some breakfast. Stark had walked in and exclaimed, “You remember how to use that? That’s fantastic!”

And it had felt entirely natural to give him an incredulous look and say, “I’m from the 1940s, Tony, not the Middle Ages. I know how to use a toaster.” He had instantly felt embarrassed and confused afterwards—that was not the sort of thing he usually said to distant acquaintances, though he could imagine himself saying something similar to Bucky. Stark had just grinned and punched his shoulder, poured himself some coffee, and walked back out.

That had been one of the few times he had accidentally called one of the “Avengers” by their first name. They all gave him sad looks when he referred to them with formality, but he couldn’t help it—it just felt wrong to call government agents “Clint” and “Natasha”, the doctor “Bruce”, and the irritating, self-confident blustering scientist “Tony”. It shouldn’t feel wrong, if their reactions were to be judged correctly. But he couldn’t help it. He’d gotten used to them calling him “Captain”, though “Steve” felt strange.

The other time he’d called Stark by his first name was when they were in the weapons garage, in a tense situation, when Steve hadn’t been thinking about what he should or shouldn’t do, what he could or couldn’t remember, and he had just spat out what felt natural. Unfortunately, except at those rare moments, nothing felt natural. 

That was the worst of it. Nothing feeling normal. Being out of time was bad enough, but out of memory was worse.

Steve threw away the cloth and stood up, ignoring the instantly increasing pounding in his head. He went into the dark hallway and walked downstairs. Looking for activity. Conversation. Random guards. Anything to distract himself.

He didn’t expect a full, buzzing room of flashlights and other battery-operated light sources, with agents running around, and Stark yelling at people to shut up, get him things, and arguing loudly with Fury about the plan of attack. Steve squinted in the artificial, dancing light and it took a moment before anybody noticed him. Banner and he made eye contact. Banner waved a hand at the table that Stark stood at, rolled his eyes, and went across the room to continue working.

Stark looked up. “Spangles! Get over here and tell Fury he’s an idiot! He’s not listening to me!”

“What?” Steve shuffled over to the table that Stark was leaning over, with a pen and what looked like a screwdriver behind one ear, tangling in his unruly hair. 

 Barton showed up beside him. “We had some contact with Pepper, Jane, and Sif,” he said. “They sent us some information on the Chitauri holding in New York.”

Sif and Jane didn’t sound familiar, but Pepper did. Steve automatically took a few seconds trying to place her, and then stored it away in a drive-me-insane-later file in his head. “And?”

“We’re trying to decipher it and see how it can help us form a plan of attack.”

“All I’m saying is,” Fury said, his face and tone of voice firm and calm. “We can’t just waltz in there, blow it up with a few repulsers and arrows, collect our things, and waltz back out.”

“No, we can’t. We’re not going to waltz at all, and we won’t be coming back out—we’ll be staying in our city.”

Barton made a grunting sound and scratched the nape of his neck. Steve leaned over the long sheets of paper that held scratches of confusing lines and scattered dots. He studied it while Stark and Fury argued, sorting out the images in his head. Then he picked up the other scattered sheets and studied them.

“He’s right, we can’t,” He said at last, holding out a photograph. “Their things have been fused into the regular buildings, hasn’t it? If we tear it down, the city comes down with it.”

Stark pushed the photo away. “Which is why I’m saying we’ll de-fuse it first!”

“With what?” Fury put a firm hand down in the middle of Stark’s working area. “We’re on a timetable here, Stark, and I’m not going to sit around waiting for you to invent something that might help destroy a Chitauri city without destroying the city it’s sitting on.”

Stark stabbed Fury’s arm with a pen. Fury didn’t flinch. “So what you’re saying is that you’ll destroy both cities to get rid of the Chitauri, despite how many civilians are trapped inside.”

Fury enunciated each word. “If we need to!”

“Pepper and Jane and Sif are in there!” Stark yelled.

“And tearing down the cities is not on our line of attack right now, Stark!” Fury yelled back.

Steve, in one of his not-thinking-before-I-act moments, slammed both of his fists down onto the table and shouted at the top of his lungs.

“QUIET!”

When a super soldier bangs on a table and yells, the room goes dead silent. Steve only had a moment to hear it, though, because the next minute he felt as though his brain had exploded, and he felt his body hit the floor. He could have sworn he felt blood leaking out of his ears and eyes, and the pain was so intense that, even though he could see a pair of feet running towards him, he didn’t comprehend it. 

Heat flashed through his skull, then a chill, then heat again, and Steve sat up, gratefully taking both compresses from Dr. Banner. He collected himself, and then stood up. 

He cleared his throat. “The Chitauri’s main stronghold is, for now, in New York,” he said, hoping to appear calm and authoritative despite an ice pack and a hot pack pressed against either side of his temples. “If we can get rid of it, that would put a damper on their spirits and plans both. There is a vast network of subways underneath the city, so why not use them to start evacuating people?”

“Oh yeah, ‘cause that’ll be sure to stay secret,” Fury muttered. “And may I remind you, ‘Captain’, that the Avengers, and yourself, do not have any authority?”

Steve just glanced at him before looking at Stark. “They’re building a city,” he nodded towards a sheet of paper full of text. “It says here they aren’t hanging out in the streets of New York very much. If we can get a lot of the civilians out through the subway tunnels, we’ll also have a way to sneak an invasion force of our own to the city. We would destroy them from the inside out.”

“We’ve already tried to get people out through the subways,” an agent timidly spoke up, earning a glare from Stark.

“If that was right after, or during, the fighting, it doesn’t count,” Steve said. “Things change.” He indicated the paper again. “Look, these women were clever enough to find weak spots for us. Life is starting back up in New York. It’s not a dead occupied city anymore. There are people there moving around. They can move out. And if we have to blow up both of the cities once the civilians are out, then that’s what we have to do.”

Steve let the silence simmer for a few moments.

“If you need me, I’ll be in bed. All of this noise makes my head hurt.”

He turned around and left. The room remained silent.

ɤ

Natasha stared at the little green, blinking light until the single ray of light seemed to burn a permanent impression into her retinas. She blinked, turned her head, and stared at the little red, blinking light for an equal amount of time. The generator beside her bed hummed, powering the machines that powered her body. Inside, everything quivered, itching and burning, as if swelled and ready to explode. The exams told them that everything was normal; everything looked, sounded, and by all rights should be normal.

She sat up, ignoring the bursts of pain this brought, and leaned against the wall behind her head. She longed to stand up and walk around, but she couldn’t—her connections to these machines prevented much movement. If disconnected, her organs stopped working. The doctors thought, anyway. Her heart, her lungs, and her kidneys seemed especially vulnerable. 

A tiny beam of light came in under the door, and she longed for it to open and let her see something, even if it was just random SHIELD agents running back and forth. Anything was better than the two blinking lights. She hated being left alone like this; not because she didn’t like being alone, but because everybody out there was planning a New York evacuation and invasion. And because she hated having absolutely nothing to look at but metal machines, ceilings, walls, floors. There wasn’t a window in this room. 

After the machines had stopped working that one time the electricity went out, Clint had insisted that Tony build him a sort of baby monitor—something that he could hook onto his ear and use to listen to the beeps from the machines and the hum from the generator, and know instantly if any of them stopped. Natasha didn’t like this, because of the, you know, “baby” aspect of it, but she made a rare decision now to take advantage of it.

“Hey, Clint?” She spoke to the darkness. “Could you come here a minute?”

He wasn’t capable of answering—the device was one-way—but twenty-seven seconds later the door swung open, and the daylight blinded her for a minute. She blinked rapidly, clearing her vision as Clint came in, leaving the door open.

“What’s up, Nat?” he asked, sitting on the foot of her bed. Natasha wiggled her feet over a few inches, giving him more room.

“Nothing much,” she said. “This is going to sound kind of strange, but could you go get me a plant?”

Clint raised one eyebrow. “A plant?”

“Yeah. It doesn’t have to be fancy, just something green. Actually, it doesn’t even have to be green. It can be dirt-brown for all I care. Or yellow.” Natasha hated yellow. “Just something alive and growing, okay?” 

“Sure, I guess,” Clint stood back up. “I’ll be right back. But what do you want a plant for?”

“I’m bored,” Natasha said. “And please leave the door open.”

Clint obliged, and Natasha stared at the wall across the hallway, eagerly taking in the details of every person that passed. Clint stayed away longer than she thought he needed to grab a strand of grass and a cup of water, so she had the time to make up a challenge for herself: be able to recognize and remember every person that passed with just one glance. Know when they came back the other way if she’d seen them before. 

After several minutes, she thought she’d recognized maybe three people, and she began to be worried for and annoyed at Clint. Where the heck was he?

She recognized another person before she heard his step in the hallway. “What took—” she began as he came around through the door, and then stopped short. “Ca- _lint_ ,” she protested as he entered with a huge armful that brought an explosion of color to the room.

“You said you wanted plants, I thought I may as well put an effort into it,” Clint said with a hint of a smirk as he set down the makeshift bouquet on a stool next to her bed.

“ _A_ plant, Clint! _A _ plant!” The overflowing, plastic blue pitcher held ivy, dandelions, wild violets, wild carrots, baby’s breath, and several different sprigs of leaves that held various nuts and fruits.  “This makes me feel like an invalid!” 

“You are,” Clint said, his smirk more evident now.

“Would you like to put that to the test?” Natasha threatened, straightening up and wrapping her fingers around a wire, threatening to yank it out of her arm.

“Even you won’t commit suicide over that,” Clint said.

“Suicide? I could take you out with one kick and plug myself back in before my body even noticed that it had been unhooked!”

Before Clint could answer, somebody peeked in the doorway and said, “Agent Barton, Fury wants to see you in the meeting room.”

Clint looked like he was about to refuse. Natasha sank back with a wave of her hand. “Go ahead. You have to cover for both of us, Hawkeye.”

“See? You are an invalid,” Clint said, but this time he didn’t smirk. His shoulders slumped.

“Not for long,” Natasha said. “Now go on.” As he headed for the door, she added, “Thanks for the ‘plant’. But you do realize I’m going to kill you later, right?”

Clint flashed a smile. “Completely. Get better, Nat.”

He left the door open for her, and Natasha lay back down, looking at the bouquet when there was nobody in the hallway, and glancing towards the door whenever anybody passed. Her pain lessened a bit, in one of its unpredictable phases, and Natasha fell asleep. She rarely slept deeply, but lately her body seemed to recognize that the ability to get to sleep at all was a rare gift, and it dumped her almost into unconsciousness whenever the pain allowed it.

She woke back up gradually as the burning became stronger. Clint sat at the end of her bed again, leaning forward with his chin resting on his clasped hands. She watched him through half-shut eyelids for a few minutes before poking him with her toe.

Clint looked up and smiled at her. “Sleep well?”

“Too well,” she said, her words slurring from sleepiness. If this continued much longer, she’d have to relearn her old sleeping habits. “What’d Fury want?” 

Clint half-shrugged. “He was letting me know that SHIELD’s starting some people digging under New York.”

Natasha frowned, lifting her head as she started to sit up, and then changing her mind. She felt too heavy. She settled back against her pillow. “Just letting you know? Fury just wanted to let you know something?”

“He wanted to know if I would go,” Clint said. 

A pause.

Natasha said, “You’re still here.”

Clint glanced away, looking at the bouquet. “I said no.”

Natasha closed her eyes and pressed her palm against her forehead, dragging tubes across the sheets. “Clint.”

“Once they actually get ready for evacuations and invasions, I’ll go,” he said. “Maybe.”

“Clint.”

“Hey, I’m not the only one! Bruce is still here too. Besides,” he gestured at the bouquet. “If I didn’t stay, who would change out your plants for you when they die off?”

Natasha crossed her arms on her chest. “Banner would, if I asked him too.”

“But you wouldn’t ask him, would you?” Clint smirked.

“Maybe.”

“There, see?” Clint stood up and stretched. “I totally need to stay.”

“Barton!”

Clint became serious. “Stop arguing with me, Natasha.” 

She didn’t obey, indignation twisting into a scowl. “I don’t want you to stay here because of me, Barton.”

“And I don’t want to not be here if something happens to you.” Clint picked his bow up from where it sat leaning against the wall. 

“I’m not a child!”

“No, you’re not.” Clint went to the door. “I’ll see you later, Widow.”

Natasha sat up, trembling with anger and helplessness, as he went down the hallway, out of her line of sight. “Barton. _Barton!_ ” She shouted after him, but he didn’t come back.

ɤ

Loki landed knee-deep in snow and fell onto his hands and knees. He gasped for a moment, clawing the scarf that hid his markings away from his face, reflexive tears washing his eyes as he trembled, weak, tasting blood. He vomited. 

He collapsed and turned over onto his back, wiping his mouth, angry and humiliated and frightened. This was pathetic. Loki Silvertongue. _Pathetic_. 

Nothing made sense now. Nothing at all. But this game needed to end, and Loki had already lost. He had lost the moment he lost the Tesseract.

“Oh yes,” the old Chitauri woman had said while she stirred something stinking and bubbling over a fire. Loki didn’t really need to be talking with her, but centuries of fighting and hunting had taught him a valuable lesson: never presume to know all of your enemies’ strengths. “Oh yes, marvelous trackers, we are.”

“Quite,” Loki said, watching the dancing flames. “I myself was quite impressed with your ability to sense magic while using none of your own.” 

The Chitauri woman had looked up at this comment with a laugh. “Oh, dear me, no,” she said, turning to grab something from the shelf. “We can do many things, dear, but not that. No Chitauri now, or ever.”

Loki went cold. “I am aware it is unusual, but isn’t there—the Other can. I saw him.”

The woman snorted. “I don’t know where you got your information from, but no, none of us can sense magic at all. That’s as basic as wet water and silent space.”

Everything struck him at once: the bargains, the traveling with no Tesseract, the utter absence of magic, the absolute ability to sense it, the other-worldliness, the…nothing made sense.

Nothing at all.

In Niflheim for the last time, Loki staggered to his feet. His magic was pulling everything from him. His skin flamed red around the brands, and the markings themselves seeped blood.

And now his instinctual spells on himself fell away. He couldn’t even keep dreams away anymore. He had dreamt the other night, for the first time since childhood. He had dreamt that he was a child again, in Asgard, and his father was coming. Terrified, he had tried to scratch away the brands on his arm, but it only made them spread, turning the rest of him blue, and freeze. When he had awoken, his arms were bleeding deeply where he had scratched himself. He was falling apart, exhausted, unable to keep any sustenance inside of him.

Terrifying.

This game had to end, and it could only end one way. 

He had absolutely no idea why the Other so bent on finding him. He had absolutely no idea how the Other could possibly hope to use him once their bargain was fulfilled. 

He was being hunted. And he had just learned that he had absolutely no idea what was hunting him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I want Clint and Natasha to have their own movie. So bad.)
> 
> Next week: Reveal.
> 
> I've been looking forward to posting chapter 11 since the beginning.
> 
> Just sayin'.


	11. Slip

Loki reached a very logical conclusion. He would not know how to escape until he understood from what he was escaping. 

Sitting in Niflheim, he picked up a handful of snow in trembling hands and ate it. After his original panic when the woman told him the Chitauri had no magic or magic-sensing abilities, he calmed down and managed to think logically. 

Not about the Other. He could not make anything about the Other make sense, so he gave that up.

After his discovery, he had come back to the Nine Realms out of instinct—here was home, here was safety. That had been a foolish move. Loki didn’t think he would have the strength to go back to the Chitauri world. An inner pain grew in him with each passing day, and he could not eat much without vomiting. He was fairly sure he had a fever that came and went as well, and he often had a hard time thinking straight. 

Now he planned. He could not escape the Other. Not now. His time was running out. He had to face him. The Other would find him, yes, but perhaps that would not prevent Loki from killing him. It would help if he knew what it was the Other wanted, but he did not. He needed something to help him. Loki by himself could not manage to defeat the Other. He needed something magical, a weapon of some sort. Something that could pain and kill and—

Loki shuddered, overwhelmed with a feeling of intense hopelessness. He had passed through Midgard briefly early on, and he knew that the Chitauri were building on Midgard. There was the same, unreal feel to their cities that the Other had. They were built upon the bargain, drawing power from it. 

Loki went through his plan in his mind. Once he started, he could not stop. It would be the snowflake that started an avalanche. But first he needed some help.

Loki took a deep breath.

_Please._

He pleaded with his magic. It seemed hesitant, and his body started screaming at him the moment he tried to reach it. Loki stopped for a moment. He took a dagger he’d stolen from Svartalfheim, tore a small piece of cloth from his clothing, wrapped them together, and then put the dagger’s hilt between his teeth, biting down until he felt a trickle of blood fall onto his tongue. Then he knelt to the ground, ignoring the churning of his empty stomach, placed his hands on the ground, and shot magic into his call.

He screamed, and then fainted.

ɤ

_Loki wanted to shout in triumph as the gates closed behind him. He scrambled further away, ducking behind a cart and slipping into an ally. Then he allowed himself to grin, panting and hot, but_ out _. Imagine their faces when he returned! Perhaps Frigga and Odin thought him too young and small for training, but Master Alvis knew him to be strong, and Loki knew it too. He was special; he had magic flowing in him. He could escape the palace walls and enter the city and take care of himself._

_He peered out into the bustling street, with a little more nervousness. He knew he couldn’t get lost—if he did lose his way, he had only to climb to a high enough point to see the palace’s topmost peak—but he felt that once he went out into the real city, he would be exposed._

_Well of course he would. That was the point. Loki squared his shoulders and darted out into the crowd. The current overwhelmed him and knocked him to the ground._

_“Watch where you’re going, lad!” somebody scolded. They didn’t recognize him. Loki felt an insane mix of fear and excited ecstasy which came out in a broad grin._

_“Sorry!” he apologized to the unknown person, and he wormed his way through the traffic._

_Invisible in plain sight! How glorious! Hours passed, and Loki became quite skilled at dodging through traffic, after being knocked to the ground several more times. Eventually he looked up at the sinking sun and felt suddenly hungry. They were probably searching for him right now back at the palace, but he didn’t care. Loki fingered the coins in his pocket and skipped over to a stand that held fruits and dried meats. Loki had never bought anything at a market in his life, but he felt bold now._

_“How much for an apple?” he asked._

_The woman behind the cart was very pretty, but she frowned down at him. “What has that got to do with you? Street urchins haven’t got money.”_

_Street urchins? Loki was startled. He glanced down at himself, and noted with some dismay the dust and grime covering him. He didn’t like getting dirty, but he’d been so happy today that he hadn’t even noticed._

_“I’m not a street urchin,” Loki corrected her. “And I do have money. See?” He pulled out a small handful of the coins and showed them to her._

_Her eyes widened, and Loki waited smugly for an apology. “Where in Odin’s name did you get those?” she gasped._

_Loki blinked. “They’re mine.”_

_“They are most certainly not yours! Come here!” The woman dived at him so suddenly, and so fiercely, that Loki jumped back instinctually. “Money like that is stolen!”_

_Loki’s mouth dropped open, and he got angry. “I did not steal these!” He shoved them back into his pocket, and for a moment forgot that he was supposed to be in secrecy. “I am no thief! I’m Pri—”_

_She knocked him over, and her hands grabbed at him. Loki kicked her calf, dove under her stand, crawled behind a pile of crates, and turned invisible. He waited until she gave up looking for him, then he dropped his invisibility and snuck up behind her. He couldn’t stay invisible while moving. He plucked an apple from the stand. He was not a thief, however, so he set a gold coin that would probably pay for twenty apples on top of her money box and strolled away. Horrible woman! Loki felt that he hated her._

_He went into an ally and sat down on a broken crate to eat his apple. He had only taken a few bites when two shadows draped over him. Loki looked up to find two older, bigger boys standing there. The state of their clothes told Loki that they were real street urchins. _

_“Hello,” he said, uncertainly. He didn’t like the way they were looking at him._

_“You have money,” the bigger red-haired one said. “We saw you show it to the market woman.”_

_“I didn’t steal it,” Loki said. Were they going to try to turn him in as a thief too?_

_“We don’t care,” the red-haired one said. “Give it to us.”_

_Loki stood up, holding his half-eaten apple in one hand. “It’s mine.”_

_“Give it to us, or we’ll beat you so bad your whole body will turn purple,” the smaller one threatened. Loki’s eyes widened, and he didn’t notice that his hand had dropped his apple._

_He could give them the money, but he didn’t want to. That was cowardly. That was giving in to injustice. He was not a thief, and these two were._

_“I could buy you some apples if you want them,” Loki tried a compromise._

_“We don’t. We want the money,” The red-haired one said._

_“You have ten seconds,” the smaller one said._

_Loki stood frozen. If only he had some training, he might have been able to fight them! But now, like this, he didn’t stand a chance against them. His stomach churned, and he wished for Thor._

_“Time’s up.”_

_Loki stepped backwards and held up both of his hands, palm outwards, in a futile attempt to stop them. Terror made his legs shake as they both ran at him._

_“STOP!” Loki shouted, suddenly becoming angry again. He turned his palms towards each other and, a few steps before they reached him, a black cloud of nothingness appeared between his palms. The urchins stopped short._

_“What is that?” the red-haired one demanded._

_It wasn’t anything. It was an illusion, conjured by their own minds with Loki’s influence. Loki’s heart hammered so hard he wasn’t sure if he could get any words out without choking. He had to frighten them. Loki swallowed and frowned. “Do you really want to find out?”_

_“What are you doing?” the smaller one said, looking nervous._

_Loki spread his palms further apart and the illusion grew. “Leave me, or I will report you to the Royal Guard.”_

_The red-haired one did a short laugh that didn’t sound real, as he stared at the black mass in Loki’s hands. “It will be your word against ours.”_

_“No.” Loki drew himself up and turned his hands palm-upwards so that darkness massed above each one. “It will be your word against a SON OF ODIN.” With that, he copied a fighting stance from Thor and thrust both hands out at them. The black immediately dissipated with the movement, but the urchins hadn’t waited to see. They both raced out of the alley and disappeared into the growing shadows._

_Loki put a hand to his throat. It opened up and allowed him to breathe after a few seconds of recovery, and then he let himself laugh. Feeling weak, and much hungrier now, he started back to the palace, which was outlined against the rosy sky._

_Loki felt buoyant. He didn’t even need warriors training. Perhaps not at all. With a little magic and a few choice words, fights could be avoided entirely. He had protected himself with nothing._

Perhaps _, Loki thought._ Words and illusions are more powerful than weapons.

ɤ

Loki awoke he knew not how much later to a wet nose against his numb cheek, and a musky, wild smell in his nostrils. Loki managed to smile and, without opening his eyes, reached up and clutched at the long, tangled fur.

“Fenrir. You remember me.” 

Loki opened his eyes and looked into the luminous amber eyes of the enormous wolf. He sat up. Fenrir crouched, his head level with Loki’s, and licked at Loki’s mouth. Loki parted his lips and let him, running his hands along either side of the wolf’s snout to his ears.

“We are going to take a trip away from here, Fenrir,” he said, gazing hard into the wolf’s eyes. “You are going to help me with something.” 

The Dvergar dwarves of Nidavellir long told the story of the masked man who broke into the palace cellars, astride a huge black wolf the size of an enormous horse, and stole nothing but a needle and thread, paper, and a pen.

Loki went to Jotunheim next. Not because he wished to, but because he knew he had to stay hidden in one place for a long while, and as he had not yet been to Jotunheim, it would probably not occur to Thor or the Other that he would be here. He shook the thread out onto the snow and jumped back, as if it were a snake and would bite him. Fenrir stood beside him, pawing and sniffing at the new territory, while Loki dug his fingers into the fur, staring at the thread.

At last he knelt down and picked it up. “I have to do this,” he said, still keeping one hand on Fenrir. “This – there is not another way to do it. It _hurts_ …” He stared at his fingers, and his lips stung. He rubbed at his mouth, his grip on Fenrir tightening, and the wolf nudged his shoulder with his nose. Loki looked at him. “You will stay with me, won’t you?”

Fenrir gently licked Loki’s mouth again. 

“All right then. I’ll take you back to Niflheim later, if I can.” Loki let go of Fenrir and held the thread in both of his hands. If he wished it to serve the purpose he needed, he had to add magic to it, no matter how excruciating it would be to work such magic. He prayed he could stay conscious long enough to do it. He didn’t feel like he had the strength right now to sit up straight, let alone cast spells. Stalling, and trying to gain his courage, he muttered, “I wish I had had some of this when Stark would sleight my punishments.” And everybody else who had mocked him, especially for losing his voice. See how they liked it. Perhaps he would sew several more mouths shut, once the Other was out of the way, and he had the chance.

To his surprise, Fenrir lay down behind him, his strong shoulders against Loki’s back. Loki sighed, leaning into him. Fenrir licked his face once, and then the wolf turned his head away, staring straight ahead, watchful.

Loki reached back and stroked the wolf’s neck, tears sprouting in his eyes. 

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Then he put the dagger between his teeth again, imagining the horrible things the thread could do to the Other, and began.

ɤ

Clint stood on the railing of the fire escape, looking to the East. New York was out there, somewhere. Somewhere, SHIELD was trying to get civilians out of that mess. Somewhere, they were planning to make the whole thing collapse in on itself. Even the air felt tense. Clint kept himself calm by listening to the steady sound of Natasha’s machines. They meant that she was safe. If she was safe, the world couldn’t be in too much danger yet.

SHIELD had gone slightly renegade. The military commanders of US security agreed with them, but the top politicians and economists did not. What the utter destruction of New York City would do to the world and the economy was uncertain. But, what would become of everything should the Chitauri stay was even more so. So SHIELD had taken the authority of the military as permission and gone ahead anyway.

Clint would be joining them when it got closer to the time to actually attack. Natasha was right; SHIELD needed him. Or, technically, both of them, but as she couldn’t go, he had to be both her surrogate and himself…though he didn’t think he could pull off her deadly, sexy thigh choke. In any case—

Clint blinked, for a moment unsure of what had changed. He glanced around him, the silence ringing in his ears.

Silence.

Clint nearly lost his balance.

_Natasha._

Clint leapt off the railing and broke through a window, rolling onto the ground inside. He scrambled to his feet and raced for her room. He heard nothing. She must be asleep, or something—

The halls were empty of people; the hospital was mostly entirely empty. Bruce. He had to get Bruce, and that technician must be around here somewhere. But first—

Clint smashed through the door leading to Natasha’s room, his fleeting thought ‘ _Why is it closed?_ ’ quickly chased away. His momentum didn’t allow him to stop, but he let out a cry of horror and surprise.

Loki stood at Natasha’s side, most of his face covered with a scarf, one hand on her forehead. He didn’t break contact with her as he threw Clint into the back wall with his other arm.  The stool with the plants rocked back and forth but didn’t topple. Clint started shouting for help as he tried reached his hand back to grab his bow. 

A huge mass of metal smashed into him, throwing and pinning him against the door with a cracking of wood and the tinkling of glass. Clint looked up, blood running down his face, pain wrenching through his right shoulder and left ankle. Loki threw the generator too, blockading the door further, his hand still on Natasha’s forehead. She wasn’t moving.

Clint didn’t recognize the animalistic snarls coming out of his own mouth as he struggled. Wires tangled around his arms. His foot was crushed underneath equipment, and the weight of the generator pressing him against the door kept him upright. Clint shoved and managed to slip his hand down to his thigh. He drew out his gun and shot Loki in the head. Loki jerked, picked up the chair that Clint sometimes used, still with one hand on Natasha, and threw it. Clint yanked his arm, protecting his head. The gun wrenched out of his hand, and his hand was pinned now as well. He felt and heard something crack.

Loki turned back to Natasha, his hand still on her forehead. 

“Let GO of her!” Clint screamed. Where was Bruce? He jerked his body, feeling what would soon become monstrous bruising in his chest. The corner of Natasha’s stabilizer dug into his sternum. Loki ignored him, and pulled down the sheets off of Natasha’s body.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Loki continued to ignore him, and started to pull up her shirt. Clint bit down on his tongue on accident, remembering the security camera, and Loki’s threat.

“Keep your hands off of her!” he shouted. “BANNER!”

He continued shouting, but Loki didn’t acknowledge him. He stopped lifting Natasha’s shirt halfway and placed his hand on her bare midriff, his other stand still on her forehead. He leaned forward in concentration, mouth twitching. Suddenly he heaved backwards, his eyes rolling back into his head, as if there was a string attached between his shoulder blades suddenly gone taunt. Natasha’s body surged as well, her arms and fists stiff at her sides, her chin pointing to the ceiling, and her hips lifting off of the bed. As if something were being sucked out of her.

Life.

All of Clint’s awareness of pain switched off. He began to pull his hand and foot.

Loki and Natasha hung suspended like that a moment, and then Natasha collapsed back and lay still. Loki’s hands hovered over her for a moment, then, as if he were a wooden doll, his eyes still rolled back, half-closed, he turned on a dime and jerked forward, his hands clamping around the plants that stood on the stool. Clint’s mouth went dry and he stopped yelling.

The plants’ leaves stiffened as though a bolt of electricity had hit them, and then—Clint couldn’t believe his eyes. They began to shake, whither, brown, shrivel. They dried, the twigs going black, the flowers collapsing into hard knots, the leaves turning to dust. 

Loki stumbled backwards a few steps and opened his eyes, looking dazed.

Clint’s foot and hand slid free with a tear of cloth and skin and Clint shoved the generator. It let out a groan and slowly slid out of the way. “How dare you! I’m going to _kill you_!” Clint jumped over the remaining wreckage, snatching a knife from his belt. Loki’s eyes widened and Clint actually split the skin of his forehead open. Loki grabbed his wrist, and Clint’s world turned upside down, and he heard something else crack. He had a brief vision of Loki giving him a poisonous glare from behind the scarf, lined with crimson, and then Clint was on the floor.

Loki stalked out of the room, shoving the heavy equipment out of his way as if it were nothing.

Clint dropped his knife and pushed himself onto his knees next to the bed. The lower part of his left arm hung at a strange angel from his elbow, and the wrist and ankle were throbbing, the skin torn, and he was pretty sure his hand wasn’t supposed to have that kind of bump. 

“Nat,” he said, desperately. “Natasha. _Natasha._ ”

He’d killed her. Clint gripped her hand that was still curled into a fist, trying to breathe and to think and failing. His grief was so great that it took him a full minute and a half to realize that his imagination was making her chest rise and fall, ever so slightly. 

Clint stared at it, then at Natasha’s face. Her lips were parted. Clint flipped her hand over and pressed his fingers to her wrist.

A pulse. A _pulse_.

She wasn’t dead yet.

“BANNER!” Clint shouted again, and then stopped short as Natasha’s eyelids flickered, and then opened. “Nat!” He gripped her hand again.

She blinked at him. “Clint? What…”

“Loki,” Clint said. “He—tried to kill you, but I think, I don’t…what is…” He couldn’t form his thoughts into coherent sentences.

“I don’t feel dead,” Natasha said. She turned her head and looked at her left arm, where a tube usually was. She let out a gasp and lurched into a sitting position, jerking her hand out of Clint’s and clamping it down onto her arm. “Where—” She looked around her at the room and the broken equipment. “Clint?”

“I don’t know.” Still in shock that she wasn’t dead, Clint touched her shoulder. Natasha reached up and covered his hand with her own, keeping it there.

“Not only do I not feel dead, I don’t feel—I’m weak but I’m not—” She looked at Clint again, her eyes widening. “Clint, the pain is gone.”

Clint opened his mouth and shut it again. “No.”

“Loki was here?”

“He had his filthy hands all over you. Why didn’t you yell for help?”

“I couldn’t, I woke up with him standing over me, and then I blacked out.” Natasha looked down at her arm again, and a strange expression passed over her face she lifted her hand away and turned it over, revealing a small piece of paper crumpled in her palm. She unfolded it, gaze scanning over the words.

“What is it?” Clint asked.

She wordlessly held it out. Clint took it.

**_You need to empty the city. Yes, I am perfectly aware that you are already instigating that operative. But you are not moving nearly fast enough. You are running out of time. If you want them to live, you need to get all of your kind out of the city, and then get out of it yourselves. Do not engage the Chitauri. Leave._ **

Clint looked up. 

“From Loki?” Natasha guessed. Clint cursed.

ɤ

“But that doesn’t make sense. Why would he warn us away from New York?” Clint paced the room, running his good hand through his hair, his other arm in a cast. “He’s telling us not to fight his old allies. Somehow I don’t trust his word on that.”

Bruce continued examining Natasha. Except for the tubes and wires being unceremoniously ripped out of her, he couldn’t find any injuries. “Why would he tell us to get everybody out as well?” he asked. 

“To make sure there’s nobody there to fight them,” Clint said, confidentially. 

 “I still think it sounds like he has some sort of plan of his own.” Bruce checked Natasha’s pulse again.

“Of course he does, but that doesn’t mean it’s beneficial.”

Thunder cracked, and suddenly, the room was full of people. Clint jumped backwards, feeling for his bow, startled.

Natasha’s mouth dropped open. “Thor?”

Thor, dark shadows under his eyes, nodded, looking as surprised to see them as they were to see him. The Chitauri captain, standing beside him, snarled out something that sounded like garbled English.

“My friends, has my brother been here?” Thor asked them.

Natasha and Bruce hesitated, but Clint answered immediately. “Yes, he has. He tried to kill Natasha.”

“We don’t know that,” Natasha said as Thor shot her a worried look. “I think he helped me, actually, but that doesn’t matter right now. Yes, he was here, about an hour ago.”

Thor nodded. “Thank you,” he said, not looking at all like he meant it. He and the Chitauri raced from the room, scattering the smashed equipment like pieces of shredded paper. 

ɤ

The Other suddenly stopped as they went through Midgard, and snarled out, “This, this is pointless.”

Hope surged in Thor. “You mean you wish to give up looking for him?”

“No!” The Other’s hand gripped Thor’s shoulder and shoved him. Thor didn’t move. “You are pointless! We have searched for ages now, and have still not even laid eyes upon him. Your abilities have perhaps withered of late.”

“I am sorry,” Thor said, even though he wasn’t. 

“We need someone who is less reluctant, wiser, more useful,” the Other hissed. “The Allfather may be of use.”

Fear jumped in Thor. “No!” he said. “My father—he no longer has the strength for hunts such as these. He would slow you down.” Thor’s real fear was that the strain would be too much for Odin; it could drive him to the Odinsleep or, if he pushed that off, perhaps to death. 

“Perhaps not on his own,” the Other mused. “But from what the Chitauri have heard, there is one steed that would bear him easily for one hunt. One steed alone fit for this deed. A steed by the name of Sleipnir.”

“Yes, but Sleipnir does not travel inter-dimensionally,” Thor said. “He—”

The Other cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Do you think that is too much for us? We can transport him just as well as we have been transporting you and the Chitauri.”

Thor, for the first time in his life, wished desperately that Loki had not created Sleipnir. If he had not, the Allfather would have been safe from the Other’s demands. He didn’t think the Allfather fit into the agreement or the Other’s power—he had not lied to the Other, or any such thing, but—would it matter? 

_What would Loki do?_

“We are catching up,” Thor said, truthfully. “Loki is a mere hour ahead of us.” That, of course, did not mean that he would not completely vanish once more.

The Other let out a low snarl.

ɤ

Jane sat on her bed, holding the bedpost between her knees as she hunched over, cold. The electricity, even in the incredible Stark tower, had finally given out a few days ago. Pepper muttered something about breaking the undersea lines. Jane flinched at every sound from outside. So far, those monsters hadn’t touched her. Sif had seen to that, bless her, but Jane still grasped her makeshift weapon in sweaty palms. It wouldn’t do any good if one actually attacked her, but she wouldn’t go down without a fight. 

A cold shot of static electricity made her skin tingle. She sat up. A rustle came from behind her. Jane jumped off of the bed and turned to face the dark corner, holding her club. Something tall and slender stood there, blending with the shadows.

“Get out,” Jane demanded, her voice strong and quiet, wondering how loudly she’d need to holler for Sif to hear her. 

The figure stepped forward, a veil-like mask draped across the lower part of its face, a hood covering most of the upper, like an Arabian from India. Great. Now thugs were beginning to take advantage of the situation. At least it wasn’t a Chitauri, and she’d have a chance of—

The figure stood still and pushed aside some of the cloth of the hood, dark, fiery eyes revealed in a blue glow. Jane heart stopped. 

“Loki _?_ ” she breathed, fingers tightening around the bedpost. 

Loki inclined his head and held out a small piece of folded worn parchment, sealed with sickly yellow wax. Jane watched him with suspicion, not taking it. She felt some relief at the person in her room being familiar, but what was he doing here? He was supposed to be running across the galaxies. What if a Chitauri chose this moment to storm in? 

She expected him to get angry at her hesitation, but Loki simply knelt and set the parchment on the floor. He reached into his clothes and took out another, smaller piece of unsealed folded parchment and set it on top. Then he stood and walked back to the corner, as far away from her as possible and turned his back. Still keeping an eye on him, and suspicious that her hand might burst into flames or something the moment she touched it, Jane retrieved the two pieces of paper. They were about the size of the palm of her hand and incredibly soft, as if made from new animal skins. She tried not to think about that, stepping far away from Loki and opening the unsealed parchment.

**_This sealed message I have given you is for Thor. He must read it, and he alone. I need you to give it to him, but not too soon. I cannot give it to him myself, for obvious reasons. You are my elected messenger because you are too far removed from this situation to have an effect on the Other and his agreements. You are of Midgard and owe him, and me, nothing._ **

**_You must keep it on your person at all times. Do not open it. Never set it down; never take it out once stowed away. It must not be seen. You must destroy this message I have given you._ **

**_You must not give Thor his message too soon, or it will destroy the precarious balance of the worlds I have managed to keep steady. Forgive me for being unable to tell you what the message contains. Only know this: you must wait to give it to Thor until it is time to collect me._ **

Loki turned around, and his eyes seemed to burn brighter.

**_I know you do not, but you must trust me, Jane Foster._ **

Jane’s hands wanted to shake, but she held them still. She didn’t look at Loki while she considered the proposition. No, she didn’t trust him. But what was he doing here? And what could he possibly want to tell Thor?

She didn’t trust him. But how could a message hurt Thor? And anyway, she could always decide to give it to him sooner. Or not at all. 

But when did he want her to give it to him? What did “time to collect me” even mean? How could she possibly know when that was?

“How do I know when?” she asked aloud.

Loki looked down at her, and inclined his head, slightly. She could almost hear his voice inside her head.

_ You will know. _

Jane blinked, and he was gone. 

ɤ

They continued to search for Loki, and Thor felt a growing uneasiness. The Other seemed on edge, even though they drew ever closer to his brother. They seemed almost at his heels, and Thor kept expecting him to vanish without a trace.

The Other stopped suddenly, clamped a hand onto Thor’s shoulder, and they teleported. Thor blinked, and then recoiled. They stood in Asgard, at the rainbow bridge, and Heimdall stood in front of them with drawn sword. Behind him, the ravens Huginn and Muninn shot towards the palace.

The Other didn’t seem fazed at having startled the Watcher. “We mean Asgard no harm,” he said.

Thor nodded, jerkily. “It’s all right, Heimdall.”

Heimdall did not move. “Before I allow you entrance, the Allfather must himself give you permission,” he said, his amber gaze fixed on the Other.

“You fool,” the Other said, but he didn’t make an attempt to pass him. Dread tickled Thor’s gut, and he silently pleaded with his father to send them away. 

It was not to be, however, and Heimdall, without any signal visible to the eye, lowered the sword’s tip to the bridge and stepped out of their way. Thor bit down hard on his tongue and tasted blood as they walked down the bridge. 

He hadn’t realized until now just how absolutely filthy he felt. Here in his home, he felt the company of the Other like a suffocating cloud of dust over him. He hated this. Was sick of this. He wanted things to go back to normal. He wanted the war to be over, Midgard to be safe, the Other gone.

He wanted Loki back.

Odin received them in the empty throne room, standing at the center, Gungnir in his hand. 

“Allfather,” the Other hissed.

Odin ignored him, and went to Thor. “It is good to see you, my son,” he said, embracing him. 

“And you as well, Father,” Thor returned. _Though you will wish I was not here when you hear what the Other has to say._

“Allfather,” the Other repeated. “The game has changed. We wish you to accompany us in hunting Loki, instead of your son Thor.”

Odin was silent for a moment. “I cannot simply abandon my kingdom,” he said at last. “And you must know that I am no longer suited for such vigorous pursuits.”

“Not on your own, perhaps, but you have Sleipnir, do you not?” The Other seemed impatient, stretching out his hand towards Odin, palm up, with his fingers curling. 

“Sleipnir is for riding in a single realm, not many,” Odin said. Thor bit the inside of his lip, drawing blood again.

“The Chitauri can transport him and you as if you were one,” the Other said. “With any other horse it would be impossible, but Sleipnir is another matter entirely.”

Thor had the sudden thought of going out and smashing Sleipnir’s skull in with Mjolnir. A brutal deed to perform on such a noble beast, but if it would save Odin from chasing after Loki—

It didn’t matter. Odin did not have to comply with the Other’s wishes, as foolish as those wishes were. Why did he think that Odin would be more beneficial than Thor? He wouldn’t. So why—

Odin turned to a servant that stood next to the doors. “Go and ready Sleipnir. I will be accompanying the Other.”

Thor gasped. “Father!”

Odin looked at him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Thor, I will be leaving Asgard in your hands. I will have my councilors fill you in on the details with Jotunheim. Listen to them, but make the final decisions yourself. You have the instincts of a warrior and a king.”

Thor shook his head, ready to protest. Did his father not see that he did not have to go?

Odin’s hand tightened on Thor’s shoulder, an urgent look in his eyes. Thor stared back. 

Yes, he realized. Odin knew. He would not be a greater help than Thor. He would be doing as the Other asked, and that would help Loki gain a lead once more. 

“Yes,” Odin said to the Other. “I will assist you in finding my son.”

That hideous, manic, dominate smile slid onto the Other’s face. “You have chosen wisely, Allfather,” he said.

With a bang, the doors of the room flew open. The company turned with a jerk. Thor expected to see Sleipnir standing there, trussed up in all of his glory, ready for flying and battle.

The servant stood there, hair disheveled, shock on his face. “Sleipnir.”

“What is it?” Odin demanded, tense.

The servant seemed to be having trouble forming words. “Sle—Sleipnir—is…gone _._ ”

The Other stiffened and shot across the room to the servant, who stepped backwards with fear in his eyes. The Other clamped a hand onto his bare skin, let out a cry, and the Chitauri flooded from the room and vanished to the outdoors, leaving the startled servant there. 

Odin was speechless. But Thor instantly knew exactly what had happened. Perhaps because, if he had been able, it was what Thor would have done it himself. What any son would have done to protect his father.

ɤ

Loki lay flat on Sleipnir’s back, flushed, his heart’s rhythm staggered and racing. His own adrenaline seemed to flow into Sleipnir’s body as they raced across the open ground.

That had been stupid. Stupid. The Chitauri coming here had caught Loki off-guard. He should have left immediately. He was not ready for this.

The Other was close. Much too close.

Loki curled his fingers into Sleipnir’s mane. Like Fenrir, Sleipnir had submitted willingly to him, though Loki had never ridden him before. Until today, Odin had been the sole being ever to mount him. That was the way Loki had wanted it. But now—

He had slipped out onto the bridge, after gathering the things he needed from Asgard. (Provisions, daggers, halberd…) Even though the Bifrost technically no longer existed, the eager energy there still made it easier to teleport. But he’d seen the evidence of the Chitauri there. By now, after this long chase, he could almost smell them soon after they’d passed. It was how he’d known to leave immediately if they were near.

But here. In Asgard. On the bridge.

This was not right. Loki had wavered, and then shown himself to Heimdall. 

The Gatekeeper didn’t seem surprised to see him. They’d looked at each other for several long moments, and then Heimdall said, quietly, “He is going to make your father go with him.”

And Loki couldn’t explain why icy tendrils spread down his legs and fastened him to the ground. He knew there was only one way the Allfather could possibly keep up with the Other…only one way the Allfather would agree to go with them. And even then his life, and Asgard, were endangered.

Sleipnir.

Loki had gone back into Asgard, though his time ran short, though the Chitauri were much too close, though the Allfather would not be as deadly in hunting for him as Thor was. He didn’t understand why he was making this rash decision, and why Heimdall let him go and did not call down guards and the Chitauri upon him.

Loki took a deep breath, gripping Sleipnir tighter between his knees, and, staring straight ahead, tore open a portal for both of them.

Sleipnir slowed, ever so slightly, and Loki pressed a hand against the horse’s forehead. Sleipnir plunged forward, and they ran through Alfheim. Loki let out a short sigh. That ought to keep distance between them. He always found it difficult to transport more than just himself, especially when moving—

Loki tensed, and the blood drained from his face; he felt the portal behind him surge before it closed.

Soon. Muchtoo soon.

Sleipnir’s swiftness meant that the portal was already out of sight behind them. But it was close. Much muchtoo close. 

The Other had followed him through.

ɤ

Tony held the sensor to the wall as the fugitives filed past him, hurried along by SHIELD agents. “Good, good, keep going, that’s it,” he muttered to himself, watching the calm lines waving across the screen. “No activity. We’re doing good. Keep moving, people.” He followed at the end of the line, running the sensor along the wall as they retreated. Another group out. 

They made it to what they used as their conference room, long outside the outskirts of the city. The civilians had to keep going until it was safe to surface, but SHIELD based itself here. Tony stowed the sensor again. “That’s it. Keep moving,” he said, handing off the group to the next few agents that would see the couple-hundred-count crowd away. He sighed, rubbing his eyes—dang, this was exhausting—and walked towards the corner that the coffee pot had been for the past few days. He stared at the empty table for a few seconds, feeling dejected and angry, and spun around, ready to demand who had taken the coffee.

He almost ran into a silver-red-blonde wall. Tony staggered backwards, and then grinned and threw his arms apart. “Thor! Buddy!”

Thor smiled reached behind Tony to set the pot back on the table. “I made some more, since I finished this one off,” he said.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever been so happy to have a hallucination in my life,” Tony said, and then frowned as he got a better look at his friend. “Hey, you don’t look so good. Trouble sleeping lately?”

“On the contrary,” Thor said, as Steve came up behind them. “If I would lie down I could sleep for a week. Unfortunately we do not have the time.”

Steve took a sip out of a non-steaming Styrofoam cup of coffee. “Thor’s been explaining things to me,” he said, nodding to the Asgardian. “Show Tony what you showed me.”

“I’m out of the loop? I hate it when that happens…” Tony moaned, pouring himself some hot coffee. 

Thor pulled out a worn piece of paper. “This is a message that Loki gave to Natasha back at the hospital,” he said. Tony took it and scanned the letters.

“Arrogant little piece of—” he began, and then, after glancing at Thor, ended, “—um, lovability. We can’t just give up our mission now.”

“You must,” Thor said, taking the paper back. “I fear for Loki. He is planning something drastic, and we would do well to do what he says.”

“What’s he planning exactly?” Tony wasn’t buying it.

“I’m not sure,” Thor sighed, rubbing his face. “But he stole—he is drawing the Other after him, very quickly now. So fast and sudden that the Other did not even bother to take me with him, or my father.”

“Your father? Huh? What does Odin have to—” Tony began. Steve interrupted before Thor could launch into story-telling mode.

“The Other was going to force Thor’s father to join the hunt in Thor’s place, but since he’s ancient and everything it would be very hard on him, even with his special horse Sleipnir, so Loki stole Sleipnir right under their noses, but because he dared to come so close to the Other the Other is right on his tail now.”

“The jaws are closing,” Thor said, looking miserable.

Tony didn’t have enough sleep for this. “Wait, what?”

“Loki took Sleipnir to save my father and Asgard,” Thor said. “And he gave us this message warning us to stay away from this city. He is planning something that he knows could endanger us if we are still here.”

Tony considered this in silence while he drank his coffee. Whatever Loki was planning, whether or not it was for the good of Earth, was clearly not for the good of the Chitauri. Tony could not deny the fear and desperation to which Loki had pushed himself to escape their grasp—and it couldn’t all be a huge ploy to help the Chitauri take over the world, because why not just join them and, you know, help them? The army was much more formidable than last time. Tony glanced up. “There’s no way Fury is going to buy this.”

“That is because I have not had the opportunity to explain everything to you yet,” Thor said. “You remember when you sent Loki to me? He told me some very important things there about the Other. Once I relay this information, SHIELD must believe me.”

Ah-ha! So Loki had told Thor important things! Tony tried to not feel too self-satisfied.

Okay, so he didn’t try that hard.

“Okay,” Tony jerked his head. “Let’s go talk to him. Meanwhile,” he paused and yelled over to the few agents waiting for instructions. “Keep sneaking people out! And move it double-time!”

ɤ

“Absolutely not!” Surprisingly, Fury wasn’t the one arguing. It was the head of national security. “We are not giving up this mission because an insane demigod has suddenly decided to stab his allies in the back!”

“Um, they kinda stabbed first…” Tony mumbled.

“Thor wasn’t finished,” Steve interrupted.

Thor sighed, hoping he could make his tired brain cooperate and spell out what it was he wasn’t sure he himself understood. “The Other has a sort of power that is unknown to the Nine Realms. If he makes an agreement, then he has the power to ensure that agreement is fulfilled, one way or another. He made an agreement with Loki. Either Loki would help the Chitauri gain the Tesseract, or the Chitauri would hunt Loki down. The Other set up the blocks against Loki with an insufficient army with built-in weaknesses so that he failed in his end of the agreement. The Chitauri went to Asgard and demanded that Asgard hand Loki over, but Asgard did not have Loki because he was here on Earth. I lied to the Other and told him Loki was dead. That gave them immense amounts of power when they attacked Earth a few months ago because I was blocking them from fulfilling their end of the agreement. To counteract my foolishness, I offered to help them. As the Avengers can testify, the Chitauri got much easier to fight after that, because some of their power was taken away, though they were still much stronger than they were when my brother led them, because they no longer had the weaknesses built into them.”

“What weaknesses?” the general interrupted. 

“They were not at their peak physical strength, for one,” said Thor.

“And there was the very obvious solution of destroy mothership equals kill army,” Tony said. “A solution that almost killed me, but an obvious solution nonetheless.”

“I am sure your military can also give reports of the differences between fighting them now, and fighting them before,” Thor continued. “So Loki has been running from him, but he, I, and the Other all know that it can only end with his eventual capture. We have been gradually drawing closer to him. The Avengers in Kansas received the note I have already shown you, and Loki healed Natasha Romanov of a Chitauri-given injury that has been plaguing her for months. And then, earlier today, Loki practically revealed himself to the Other and drew him after him, protecting both my father and Asgard.”

“And this proves what, if we accept all of this hokey-pokey you’re throwing at me?” the general growled.

“It proves,” said Steve. “That Loki is actively trying to not hurt us, that the Chitauri are bent on destroying him, that he’s bent on not being destroyed, and that he knows there’s something coming that could destroy this city. Whether it’s his doing or not, he doesn’t want us to be caught up in it. And quite frankly, I don’t want to be caught up in it either.”

“And if we do not follow this supervillain’s instructions?” the general asked sarcastically.

Thor looked steadily at him. “If you do not,” he said, “I will go to the Chitauri and tell them you are planning an invasion myself.”

Everybody in the room froze.

“You wouldn’t dare.” The general’s fingers tightened around the back of a folding chair.

“To protect Earth, my friends, my brother, and you, yes, I would.” Thor hefted Mjolnir to his shoulder. 

When the general said nothing, Fury finally spoke up, taking authority. “All right, people. Move it! We’re out of here in twenty-four hours.”

Agents sprang to obey him, and to escape the thundercloud that was the general’s face. 

“Let’s get out of here.” Steve pulled at both of their sleeves as the general and Fury began to yell at each other. 

When they were safely out of the room, Tony turned and pounded Thor’s shoulder, and then yanked his hand back and flapped it in the air. “Ye-ouch, that hurts. Good job, big guy! You’ve got ‘em running!”

Thor couldn’t feel happy about the way things were turning out. “I do not like threatening my allies to force their hands.”

Steve patted his other shoulder. “Since you’re saving their lives, I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”

“Perhaps not,” Thor sighed. Another wave of people started past them, the next group of refuges, and they stepped to the side of the hallway.

Tony grinned as the crowd dissipated. “You seem a little despondent, buddy.”

“I believe I am.” Thor stared at the ground.

“Terrific, ‘cause I have just the thing to cheer you up!”

Thor blinked and looked up. He saw Tony’s grinning face, and then he looked down to where three figures ran towards him. Thor’s mouth dropped open.

“What…” he laughed in astonishment as Sif, Fandral, and Volstagg all but attacked him. “My friends, what are you doing here?”

“You didn’t expect us to leave Midgard to the Chitauri, did you?” Fandral scolded, detangling himself from the somewhat accidental group hug. “Especially with you unable to be here yourself?”

Sif slapped his arm, with more success than Tony. “Really, Thor, it was most inconsiderate of you to not invite us yourself the moment there were signs of trouble.” 

“And why did you not tell us they had such delicious beverages?” Volstagg took a swig out of the coffee pot he was using as a mug.

“I hope that all will soon be amended, friends,” Thor said, beaming, his spirits greatly lifted. “I shall help you now getting these people to safety.”

“Oh, no, we have it under control.” Volstagg tipped the last of the coffee into his mouth and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

“Yes, you need to go the mortals’ base and make further plans.” Fandral shoved his shoulder and grinned. “Return to the Avengers.”

“If you insist.” Thor smiled. 

Fandral and Volstagg grinned back. “Farewell!” they chorused. Sif said nothing, her lips in a downward, disapproving curve. She started to go back down the hallway with the other two.

“No parting farewell from you, Sif?” Thor queried, puzzled, and amused.

“I am still angry with you,” Sif said, haughtily, her back to him.

Thor suppressed his desire to laugh. How he had missed her! “Will you accept my apologies?”

Sif half-turned. “Perhaps, on one condition.”

Thor raised his eyebrows. “And what is that?”

“That you allow the Warriors Three and I to become honorary members of the Avengers.”

Thor stopped trying to stop the smile spreading across his face. “Well, that is not exactly up to me—”

Tony interrupted him. “Girl, you’re hired.”

“What I mean to say is, yes, absolutely, of course, you practically are already,” Thor amended. Sif flashed him a beaming smile, dropped in a dramatic bow, and then ran after the other two.

Steve poked Tony in the back. “You do realize that isn’t up to you either, don’t you?”

Tony stared in the direction Sif had gone as if his gaze was frozen in place. “If Fury doesn’t let her in, I’m renouncing my American heritage and applying for Asgardian citizenship.” Tony shrugged and then looked at Thor with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Are all Asgardian women that hot?”

“Knock it off, Stark.” Steve jerked his head to the side. “Let’s get back to base.”

They went through several freshly-dug-out tunnels of dirt and rock before they came to the exit. Thor climbed into the fresh air with a sigh of relief. Tony and Steve followed after him, and they made their way through a few deserted parking lots to an old, worn warehouse. 

Steve was explaining the refugee camps and the distance calculations for the safety zone away from the city as they entered the building, but Thor didn’t remember what he’d said afterwards, because a squeal of joy shut out any other thoughts as a petite streak of energy barreled into him.

“Thor!”

“Jane!” He literally swept her off of her feet.

Behind him, as he witnessed their reunion, Tony muttered, “Why doesn’t Pepper ever greet me like that?”

“Maybe because you never hold her like that,” Steve answered.

“How would you know, Mr. Bourne?”

Jane leaned her head back, her arms clasped about his neck as she kicked her feet like a child, beaming. “I’m so sorry, I smell terrible. We haven’t had any showers for ages—actually you don’t smell so great either, so I guess that’s okay. What are you doing back here? Is the city emptied yet? Did the Other let you go? What’s going on? What’s changed?”

Being forced to remember the present, Thor set her back down on the floor and swallowed. “Nothing really has changed, except the Other has closed in upon Loki far enough that he does not deem me necessary any longer.”

Jane’s smile faded as she searched his face. She touched his cheek. “Thor, this isn’t your fault.”

“I know.” Thor took her hand and brought it down over his heart. “But I fear for Loki’s life.”

A strange look came over Jane’s face. She brought her other hand up and started to put it under her jacket. Then, seeming to change her mind abruptly, she merely pulled the cloth tighter around her shoulders.

Thor frowned a little. “Jane?”

“I’m a little cold,” she said, half-smiling. “I worry about you, you know.”

“And I you,” Thor said. “I was afraid that your and the other Avengers may have been caught inside the city.”

“We were,” Jane said. “Pepper and I. Sif came and stayed with us, though, and we’re out now.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I think Pepper’s in one of the back rooms sleeping.”

“Why aren’t you?”

“Somebody had to monitor readings from out here.”

“I would feel better if you got some rest.”

“You look like you could use some sleep yourself, you know.”

Thor shook his head and let her hand go. “Not right now.”

“Okay, than I’m staying up too.” Jane looked at Tony, who had moved over to the table with papers and cracked electric screens. “Tony, how much longer until the city is emptied?”

“Oh yeah, Thor kind of lied, change of plan,” Tony said. “We aren’t attacking, Thor convinced SHIELD on the note because he told us that Loki told him that the Other had special powers and Loki’s planning on doing something. Anyway, Fury says twenty-four hours.”

Jane looked back at Thor and sighed. “So that’s why you look so anxious. Here, I’ll make you a deal. If you take a two-hour nap—I’ll wake you if anything at all happens, of course—I’ll take a two-hour nap when you wake up. Deal?”

Thor kissed Jane’s hand, mostly because he knew she was expecting it. “Deal.”

ɤ

 Time. That’s all he needed. Time.

Loki rode Sleipnir with his eyes closed, for the most part letting the horse choose his own path. At first he had guided him, making sharp turns and large circles, trying to throw the Other off, but it didn’t work. Sleipnir must not slow the least bit; the Other followed him at an exact speed; he was too close to lose Loki now. Loki could not get ahead of him; he contented himself with not letting him get closer.

He wished he could explain to Sleipnir why he was being pushed this way, but Sleipnir seemed to accept this quarry-less manic ride, perhaps sensing Loki’s desperation. 

They flew across plains, around a city or two, through a few villages. The light shifted and changed as it sank; time a little off-kilter because of Sleipnir’s speed and direction towards the sun. Night came, and then morning.

Loki knew Sleipnir had to be tiring. The horse was capable of much; he could bear the Allfather in battle and wars for days on end, but even those did not require constant, full-on gallops, and in battle Sleipnir could afford to get tired; you could fight while tired. But the moment Sleipnir slowed the smallest increment, Loki was lost. 

Loki slipped his hand into his trouser pocket and touched the thread. Then he opened his eyes and put a firm hand against Sleipnir’s neck. The horse gathered himself and bolted. The wind whistling through his hair and making him squint, Loki opened another portal. 

They burst into Vanaheim. A deserted, mountainous area, with rocky formations. Loki guided Sleipnir into the heart of these cliffs and caves, and then stopped him. He slid off of Sleipnir’s bare back. He only had a few minutes, but time seemed to slow, and Loki just stood there for a moment with his hand stroking Sleipnir’s neck. The day was calm and cool, grey clouds blocking any harsh sunlight but not threatening to rain. To his right yawned a small, man-sized, deep opening to a cave. A light breeze stirred Loki’s hair and clothes. He came back to life and adjusted the scarf tighter over his face. 

Then he put his hand on Sleipnir’s side and pushed him.

 _Go home_ , he thought. _The Vanir know who you are. Find them and they’ll take you home._

Sleipnir pawed the ground and began snuffling at the damp rock as if hoping to find grass there. Loki slapped his rump, and Sleipnir raised his head and looked at him. 

_Go on, leave me!_

The portal twinged and Loki winced.

_Go!_

He shoved Sleipnir, hard, and half-accidentally stabbed the horse’s skin with magic. Sleipnir half-reared, looking confused, then turned and trotted away, up the formations, and disappeared.

The sound of humming and growling. Loki slipped into the cave to his right, through the narrow doorway, and retreated to the back of it, where he could see out, but the shadows hid him, and the scarf hid the glowing markings on his face. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and started building up magic in his palms. The sounds of the Chitauri grew louder until they stopped directly outside.

“Come, Loki, we have found you,” the Other called. “Now come out and face us.”

Loki stayed where he was, breathing steadily as he pulled more magic into the swirling mass between his hands.

“He has longed to see you once more, Loki. You, in your arrogance, doubt, and failures need to face him now.”

Loki’s body went rigid as every sinew hummed with buildup. Magic gathered on the blades in his belt, and the halberd at his back. The thread in his pocket crackled. He gritted his teeth.

“Come, Loki. We are waiting. Or do we need to come in after you?”

For an instant, the air tingled, and every one of Loki’s hairs stood on end. He snatched the halberd from his back and swung it downwards. The magic rushed forward, gathering in a single spark at its tip, and then exploded.

The magic rushed from the cave in an all-encompassing wave. Loki threw himself out of the cave in its wake, to the screams of Chitauri while they turned inside-out, thrown backwards, incinerated. Then the wave dissipated and the rest of the hunters closed in on all sides.

Loki spun, slashing with the halberd, throwing his deadly magic-ridden knives. They were falling back, could not touch him—

One grabbed him from behind, and Loki stabbed backwards, shoving them away. He felt the thread still moving, still excited. He glanced around for the Other, but there were too many closing in and blocking his sight. Loki threw three knives at once and then began to swing the halberd in circles around him, magic gathering to him in a cyclone.  It threw the Chitauri back, as it covered him in a defensive cylinder. Loki brought the halberd down to the ground with a crack, and the magic rushed outwards again, clearing a circle in a wide berth around him. He leapt to put his back against a wall.

“Loki.”

Something bitter rose on his tongue. Holding the halberd and knives in both hands, Loki turned around in a defensive crouch with the cliff at his back. Around him, the Chitauri struggled to stand and re-group. 

“Loki.”

Loki’s breath hitched. Something burned at the back of his skull. The Chitauri were rising, still a formidable army, but they did not attack him right away. Loki blinked as the burning itch grew, the feeling spreading to his whole body. It wasn’t physical, not magical, but—something—

“Loki.”

Loki turned, froze. He staggered backwards, halberd up and pointed. His mind exploded. Flashes, images, fire and water, the burning itch cooled, and then boiled. Falling. 

_ “I could have done it, Father!” _

Falling, deep, catching, shoving, Tesseract. The Other. The smile, the magic-sensing magic-less, other-worldly insane creature. 

Loki couldn’t see straight, and he felt his knees hit the stone floor as the halberd did, as he stared, mouth open, a part of his life returning to him. 

_ “He, who put the scepter in your hand, who gave you infinite knowledge and new purpose!” _

Days and weeks and months flashed back upon him. New time. Missed time. Old time.

“Do you remember me now?” Thanos stepped forward. Loki gasped, jerking the halberd up again. “If you do, you know there’s no point in that.” Loki was suffocating even as he breathed, chest heaving. This was why. This was why nothing made sense. “Why do you cover yourself with that mask? Are you so ashamed of the markings?” Thanos continued coming forward. Loki scrambled to his feet, backing away, the halberd still at the ready. “I can take those away.”

The Chitauri parted for them, as Loki backed away and Thanos advanced. 

“Do you fear me, Laufeyson?”

He had. He did. Loki’s mind spun, these new memories threatening to choke him.

“Why? I never hurt you.”

He hadn’t. That was true. Wasn’t it? But—

Loki put one foot back and it met air. Loki glanced behind him, at the new cliff dropping several hundred feet behind him, ending in smooth grass which stretched out into rolling hills. The Chitauri formed a semi-circle around them. Nowhere else to go. 

Loki cringed as Thanos stepped forward again.

“Why do you say nothing? Speak!”

Loki dropped the halberd and threw himself backwards. As he fell, Thanos started laughing, and then the Chitauri did as well, like a chorus of hacking jackals. 

Loki spun a web of magic to break his fall, and then he started running. He couldn’t explain why, even to himself. Running was still useless.

The Chitauri called to each other as they spread out, searching for ways down the cliff. Loki fled across the plain, making for the hills.

He didn’t remember torture, or mocking, or pain. It was worse. He remembered _comfort_. Strength. Power revealed. _Security._

_ “Take time. Open your mind. Feel the rush. Embrace the strength.” _

But Thanos did not give out of charity. He had given Loki much, and then erased his memory, only to reveal himself now. _Why?_ What did he _want_?

 _“You have the control. Accept it._ ”

It terrified him. The Other was not the Other; the Other was Thanos. Hidden, shielded, a Chitauri captain possessed. Bits and strains jerked through his mind, fitting things together. That was why his memories seemed so distant when he awoke on the Chitauri homeworld; they were. The time he’d lost while falling hadn’t been lost, and he hadn’t been falling at all. He’d been learning.

He heard their calls behind him, and his thoughts were drowned in horror as he began climbing over the hills. He yanked the thread out of his pocket and discarded it, along with his hopes of defeating his hunters. He was the true quarry now, the fox behind the bloodhounds, and he had no hole in which to hide.

So he ran, until his side and scars burned, until the sun sank, and beyond. They closed in on his heels. Loki gripped the handle of a dagger, hard.

Something struck out at him from the darkness. Loki dodged and fell to the ground, rolling to his feet several yards away. Thanos laughed at him again. Loki turned and kept running, only to have Thnos appear again in front of him. Loki dodged him, and threw a flare of magic his way. Thanos swept it out of the air like a scarf of mist and threw it back at him, boiling and angry. Loki braced himself, his palms upwards. The wave struck into him and Loki bit his tongue as it froze his hands. He conjured magic onto a blade and spun, sending it diving towards Thanos as he slipped through a wild hedge and escaped once more.

 At times they almost surrounded him; he dodged, slipped through, and they still laughed at him. This was pointless, he should not be exhausting himself—but he couldn’t _help_ it—

_Sweet as pain._

He was still running when the day came, heaving, gasping, sweat soaking his scarf, his throat raw and his mouth bleeding, when Thanos appeared in front of him, stepping out from behind a grove of trees. Loki staggered, switched directions, stumbled over nothing, threw his last dagger.

Thanos struck it out of the air. “Enough.”

A blow landed on the back of his head and Loki fell. Thanos was instantly beside him, plucking him from off the ground by Loki’s neck like an ornery kitten and setting him against a tree with his hand at Loki’s throat. It didn’t hurt. Loki gritted his teeth, his exhausted hands snatching at magic to slam into Thanos’s face.

Metal clicked around his wrists and the magic fled, leaving no outlet for his panic. Loki went limp, staring into Thanos’s eyes.

Thanos smiled, a mouth too large with too many teeth. “Well, Silvertongue. I’ve found you.”

ɤ

Most of the city was empty by morning. Fury forced the SHIELD agents to leave, leaving behind a few stubborn members of the military, and they withdrew several miles from the city. Thor paced as the sun rose, worry clouding his face and sending stray strings of energy into Mjolnir as he fingered it.

The sky was clear and a bright blue; even from here, in the bright sunlight, a hazy yellow glow could be seen in the direction of New York as the light reflected off of the golden metal.

Sif and Fandral, along with most of SHIELD, slept in the midday heat. 

Volstagg stayed with Thor, sitting on the ground and eating beef out of a can, concerned that his friend paced so anxiously. “You should have something, Thor,” he said, mouth full as he pushed aside one can and then pushed a hole through the top of the next one with a dagger.

Thor shook his head. “I am afraid I would have difficulty keeping it down right now.”

“Well I wouldn’t. I’m starving.” Iron Man emerged from the abandoned motel they were using as a sleeping quarters. He sat down beside Volstagg and picked up one of the cans. “I appreciate you being here and all, big fellow, but I swear you’re going to eat us to death. You could literally eat a horse, couldn’t you?”

Volstagg grinned and, seeing his struggles with the can, stabbed a hole in it for him. “I have been known to consume large beasts at one sitting, yes, but never a horse. They are too noble for that.”

“Whatever. The point is you could.” Iron Man plucked out a creamy slice of something slathered in brown gravy. They both ate in silence for a moment. Volstagg shook the beef from the new can into his mouth, watching Thor continue to pace. His gaze never wandered far from the east. Volstagg noticed that Iron Man was doing the same. Iron Man glanced at him, and he had the same notion in his eyes. “You know, Thor, it wouldn’t hurt for you to take your eyes off that spot for two seconds. And seriously, eat something.”

Volstagg had noted some time ago how the mortals treated Thor. It was strange, lacking in the usual reverence Thor received from all who were around him. In Asgard, his aura commanded respect, and he received awe. Volstagg, Sif, and the other warriors would urge Thor to do something, but they would never command it in such a nonchalant manner as Iron Man did.

Iron Man poked Volstagg in the side. “Help me.”

Volstagg picked up a can, stabbed a hole in the top, and tossed it at Thor. “Here.”

Thor caught it reflexively, but he let it dangle from his hand as a yellowish liquid drained from the top.

“Thor, snap out of it!”

Thor sighed and turned his back on the city. He dragged his finger through the contents of the can and tasted it. 

Volstagg and Tony shared a triumphant glance. Volstagg helped himself to another can, casting a glance towards the abandoned city himself as he chewed. 

A flash of light. A thin stream of smoke. 

Volstagg stopped chewing. Iron Man saw the look on his face and turned around as well, and he startled.

 “Uh…Thor?”

ɤ

Loki was stiff under Thanos’s grasp. Admitting defeat, and hopelessness, but not submitting. His pride remained. Thanos could not contain his triumphant ecstasy as he grinned down on his quarry, plaything, caught the moment agreement left his lips. His greatest strength, his most covetable quality, especially for one such as Thanos, had netted his own downfall.

“You do not know what is in store for you,” he mused, not as a threat, but as an observation. “You, who claim to have superior intellectual capabilities, are caught, trampled, and clouded by sentimentality. While you were in your memory-deprived state, did you ever stop to wonder from where the Tesseract had come? But do not fear, Silvertongue. Your actions will not be used without purpose and success. Under my fingers your power may be unmatched.” Right now, underneath his fingers, Thanos could feel him instinctually internally writhing, cut off from his magic from the silver bracelets crafted by Thanos himself as his dark eyes—or, eye, as only about a quarter of his face was revealed—fastened its guarded gaze upon him.

Asinine child, needing to be set free. And he should speak; that would loosen his bindings. Thanos was hungry for the sound of his voice; the soothing, tearing web of the Silvertongue. Thanos tugged at the end of the scarf, loosening the end that was tucked beneath the Silvertongue’s clothing. 

“Let us see this thing that you are so ashamed of.”

The Silvertongue’s face stiffened, but he gave no resistance as Thanos began to unwind the coverings, starting at his forehead and going down. The Silvertongue looked guarded and resigned as he went lower; dread. The blue lines were elegantly sketched; a design that would look more appropriate in the wall-bordering of a cathedral, and not the face of a criminal. As it came lower, the scarf became thicker and more tightly wrapped. What, was he trying to gag himself?

Thanos felt a tickling bewilderment as he undid another layer. Was that—a speck of blood? He felt the urge to laugh. Had the Silvertongue run himself to death? 

But as he unwrapped another layer, he saw more blood. Old blood, crusted and black. Then he hooked his fingers under the remaining layers and jerked them down.

It was as if he had been stabbed. Thanos did not realize he was choking the Silvertongue until he felt fingers clawing at his hands in desperation. But he did not let up, too stunned and too enraged to care if he hurt the Silvertongue, or if he killed him.

His own voice bordered the eruption of a mountain, as he growled, setting the ground to quaking, “Laufeyson, what have you _done_?”

The Silvertongue’s lips were sewn shut.

ɤ

Something was happening. The earth shivered gently every few minutes.

“I have to go!” Thor said, wildly. “My brother—”

“—isn’t there!” Steve pleaded, holding Thor back. “Nobody else has come or gone out of the city. Something is happening somewhere else.”

“I’m telling you, Thor, our sensors are empty,” Tony said. “Going there will only endanger yourself.”

Thor shook Steve off. “Then I must discover where Loki is!”

The ground quivered.

“We don’t know that Loki has anything to do with this!”

“I cannot just abandon him on his own!”

A crack of thunder and the sky split open.

ɤ

Thanos released his hold on his throat and Loki could not stop his legs from collapsing. He stared up at Thanos in shock, struggling to breathe through his bruised esophagus.

“What have you done!” Thanos struck him, and blood trickled from his temple. “You fool!”

Loki couldn’t believe it. He didn’t understand. Surely not…but why else…where else could this rage come from? Thanos struck him again, and Loki swallowed the blood that came from biting his tongue. 

“Master.”

Loki looked up and saw, for the first time in a long time, the Other, behind Thanos, his arms tucked in close to his sides in a submissive posture. Utterly pathetic in comparison.

“The Earth—the city—”

“Be silent!” Thanos shouted. So he’d been right. Loki cracked a smile. Thanos saw it, and Loki quickly pulled his lips into a straight line. Thanos grasped him again, pulled him upwards, sending his already-bruised skin to throbbing. “You think yourself clever, Silvertongue. Show how clever you are. Be rid of that string.”

Loki raised his eyebrows.

“You will not waste my time!” Thanos shouted. Oh, yes, his time was being wasted. Back on Earth, his strongholds crumbled. He had found Loki, and his power was draining. “You will be rid of that binding immediately, or I will unleash havoc on you and all you hold dear!”

That would be quite the short list. And Loki didn’t have a choice that could prevent it. Loki just looked at him, and his air supply was cut again. As he gagged, the Other ventured once more, “If we wait—”

Thanos interrupted him. “We shan’t. You, Silvertongue, shall assist me in gaining the Tesseract.”

Clouds descended on Loki’s mind as his body fought to cope with the lack of air.

_No._

Sensing his answer, Thanos gave a grin that was more of an enraged glower. “I was not giving you a choice.”

The panic that had died along with hope when Thanos first grabbed him stirred. Thanos let him breathe again, while he turned and said to the Other, “Send word to the Allfather. He gives us the Tesseract, or unimaginable things are in store for his son.”

Liar. Loki had the insensible urge to laugh. Unimaginable things were in store for him anyway. Loki struggled to control his gasping; too much air hurt. 

A flash of familiar light that blinded him, and cries of alarm came from the Chitauri. Loki blinked, and when his vision cleared— _Heimdall_ stood before them. Loki went numb.

“I speak for the Allfather,” Heimdall proclaimed.

Thanos grinned. “Why does he not come himself?”

“To safeguard against your treachery,” said Heimdall. 

“And what does the Allfather say?”

“No,” Heimdall said simply. Loki’s numbness left him as Thanos choked him again. Well, of course not. Why would he? Tremors ran through his body as his growing dread began to search for an outlet.

“Then you shall watch your rogue prince die before your very eyes,” Thanos said.

Even through Loki’s pained, blurred vision, Heimdall looked utterly calm. “The Allfather would change the terms.”

The pressure let up on Loki’s throat for an instant, and he couldn’t stop the instinctive, noisy gasp he made. He blinked back the reflexive tears. 

Heimdall continued. “He will consider exchanging the Tesseract for Loki, your immediate withdrawal from the Nine Realms, and your solemn— _agreement_ —to never return, or use the Tesseract to conquer Realms of the Nine Realms or otherwise.”

Thanos’s grip tightened at the word agreement, and Loki’s internally chuckled in black amusement as panic surged through him. Thor had told Odin, Loki had told Thor, and Thanos would make Loki pay for that. He felt no comfort at this offer of Odin’s; Thanos would never accept, and Odin knew it. 

“Why should I bargain for what is already mine?” Thanos snarled.

“Because we have it, and you do not.”

Such an absurdly simple, arrogant, calm reply from Heimdall made Loki want to laugh again.

Thanos let out a yowl of rage. Loki flinched. That voice was about to be unleashed against him. “I have no time for prattle! Goodbye, Allfather and Heimdall, and may you live for an eternity to regret your decisions!”

His hold tightened on Loki, and they were suddenly in the midst of a cracking, splintering, thundering rain of concrete and gold debris. New York.

His power was not completely gone then, Loki noted, as he could still teleport. He fit the pieces together in his mind, as fear grew with the completion of the puzzle. Loki and Thanos had both known that the Allfather would not exchange the Tesseract for his renegade, adopted younger son. Thanos had wanted his voice for something. But what? And how could he possibly have hoped force Loki to speak for him? And worse, what was he going to do with him now?

Loki remembered comfort. But he also remembered the vast, barely-controlled power simmering underneath that comfort.

_Sweet as pain._

“Master,” the Other said, nervously. And Loki saw that only a handful of warriors had come with them.

Power dwindling, indeed. The way Thanos held him, gentle but firm, ominous, returning to this crumbling city—

_Unimaginable things. Sweet as pain. Sweet as pain. Unimaginable. Sweet. Sweet. Sweet._

Loki’s exterior of calm began to crumble as he slumped to the ground, exhausted, and afraid. His tremors increased, but his fear could not summon magic. 

“He has left me no choice, the bastard idiot,” Thanos growled. Loki was not used to hearing Odin called a bastard idiot.

“He is weakening…will…” the Other hesitated. No, Odin would not die anytime soon. Wishful thinking, that.

“His instantaneous physical state matters not, only his general.” What? “Conduits between receptors do not tire. Their capacity is the only matter that need be considered. We need this if we have a chance of keeping a place to build. This is your last chance to undo the bindings, Silvertongue.”

Loki’s blood ran cold. They weren’t speaking about the Allfather. They were speaking about him. Loki lifted his head and glanced at the cracking streets, shaking foundations. 

Then he understood.

_No!_

Loki jerked back, yanking away from Thanos’s grasp, unable to breathe from horror. No, no, _no_ he would not be used like this—not this deadly—invasive— 

_Sweet as pain._

Thanos struck him, pulling him up onto his feet. “Yes,” He said, simply, and the Other suddenly clutched at his midsection with a scream, crumpling, imploding, falling to the ground and dying as his lifeforce was sucked from him.

Loki shook his head, grasping Thanos’s wrists in desperation, as he had once grasped them for support. Loki couldn’t tell Thanos how to cut the string. Not that he would not, he literally could not.

Loki yanked back again, adrenaline exploding through his shaking, but pain wrenched through his shoulders, and the remaining pockets of warriors held him upright. Thanos stood behind him, clasping both of his wrists around the magic-suppressing bracelets. The warriors released him and jumped backwards.

Most people would have felt as though they were falling unconscious. Loki, a magic-user, _felt_ the raw channels open and his mind being yanked from him. Even as his mind dimmed, he felt his body clutching itself as he fell onto the pavement, curled in a useless, defensive ball. And then, devoid of control, he felt it rise, arms raised, sucking the air dry.

His last thought fell from him like a drop of blood.

_Father._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me if something doesn't make sense! XD
> 
> Next week: Loki. He ain't doing so well.


	12. Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Aftermath of weird magic-violence that some readers may find disturbing.

The Asgardian troop flattened the grass. Odin spoke to Thor.

“Heimdall stalls for time. We will need to move quickly if enough of us are to transport to Vanaheim in time to save Loki.”

Thor nodded, taking it in, relieved and bolstered at the presence of the Aesir. He did not need to stand alone. “How many can the Tesseract transport at a time?” he started to ask, but he was cut off by a flash of light and the appearance of the Gatekeeper himself within their midst.

“Heimdall!” Odin said, sharply.

“He has gone,” Heimdall said. “There was no stopping him. Loki and a regiment are gone.”

Odin shifted his weight forward. “Where? Did you see where?”

“Some of his power remains. I am looking. He bluntly threatened Loki’s well-being, if not his life, and wherever he is, I believe that is what he is doing. He may have returned to his own world to carry out his threats, as his empire is failing in this one.”

Anger churned inside of Thor. That monster—that Thanos—dared to raise a hand against his brother—dared to threaten him—threaten Asgard—threaten—

“Thor.”

Thor turned to see Jane standing behind him. Pale, and trembling, she held something in her hands.

“What is it?” he asked, alarmed.

“I don’t know if I should be doing this,” she stuttered. “I don’t know if I should have listened better, or given it to you right away, or if I’m doing what he wants at all but—I think it’s time you saw this.” She held out a small piece of folded and sealed paper. “It might tell you where to look.”

Thor snatched the paper from her. It looked all too similar to another paper he’d seen not two days ago. “Where did you get this?”

Jane swallowed. “Loki.”

The front door of the motel flew open with a crash, the glass in the door cracking. Tony raced through it, waving an iPad in the air.

“Hey! There’s something going on!”

Thor turned his back, opening the paper to multiple paragraphs of fluid handwriting that he recognized instantly.

“Is it Loki?” Jane went to Tony and took the iPad. Her mouth opened in astonishment. “Oh…my…”

“What is it?” Odin was at her side, and she tried to not dwell on the fact that this was Thor’s father, the ruler of the universe, at her elbow.

“It’s--the ground—or the city—is—repairing itself,” Jane said, wondering if it was true, if these readings could possibly be correct. “The earthquake is basically reversing itself, there’s—”

“This isn’t possible.” Tony stared as the readings got even more wild, and then suddenly phased out.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Did they break?” Jane shook the iPad.

“No, the signal’s been cut off,” Tony said. And then repeated, “This isn’t possible.”

“You know what they call the impossible?” Steve said from behind them. He wouldn’t understand the readings, so he wasn’t even trying to look. Jane glanced at him. He raised his eyebrows. “Magic.”

“Do you have any idea just how much energy and power that would take to reverse an earthquake?” Tony demanded. “I don’t think even a god is capable of that.” He looked at Odin. “Uh, is a god capable of that?”

“I don’t know what Loki’s capabilities are,” Odin said. “Not now.”

“Thor?” Jane looked back at him, wondering how he could possibly be staying out of this conversation. If they had found Loki—

Thor’s fingertips tore through the paper as he held it clenched in his fists.  He stood hunched and tensed, his eyes staring blankly at the ground over the top of the sheet. The emptiness in his face looked horrible and wrong.

“Thor? What’s wrong?”

“I must go.” 

“Go where?”

“You said Loki is in New York?” Thor let his arms fall to his sides.

“Thor,” Odin said, gently, “The immense amounts of magic being used to repair that city will have formed a barrier around it.”

“That’s why our signals were lost!” Tony exclaimed. 

“I can make it through. I must,” Thor said.

Odin went to him and stood in front, shoulder-to-shoulder with his son. “Perhaps you can, but you would be fighting Loki, not the barrier itself.”

Thor turned on his father, his face suddenly enraged. “ _I must go!_ ” he shouted. Odin just looked at him, and Thor stumbled backwards, brushing one hand over his tearless eyes, and holding out the sheet to Jane. She took it, struggling to breathe through the knot in her throat.

“If I cannot get through, I will wait for it to subside,” Thor said, he held out an arm and Mjolnir leapt into his hand.

“Thor, wait!” Tony protested. “It’s still dangerous! We don’t even know what he’s doing, it could explode or something! It might—” He grabbed at Thor’s arm. Thor clamped a hand over Tony’s shoulder and yanked him up, throwing him into a group of Asgardian warriors. The unexpected missile knocked a few over like bowling pins. 

“Thor—” Jane began.

He held Mjolnir to the air and shot away like a bullet. Jane looked over to Tony, who lay collapsed on the ground with the Asgardians standing over him. “Tony!” she ran to him, fearful. She’d never seen Thor handle one of his teammates like that—she’d never seen his face like that, deadened, enraged, afraid—and tearful. “Tony?” She knelt down at his side.

Tony blinked a few times. “Where am I? Ouch…what did—Thor, that son of—” Tony sat up, holding his head.

Jane looked down at the page she held in her hand.

**_Dear Thor,_ **

**_If Jane Foster has followed my instructions, by the time you have received this, the Chitauri and the Other are no longer a problem, even if you do not know it yet. If you do not know it yet, take a hint from me: the Chitauri and the Other are no longer a problem. If she has not followed my instructions, I will not bother telling you to stop reading now, because you will not obey me. Just know that you are about to upset my plans and will be responsible for the destruction of your precious Midgard._ **

**_You will wonder why I told her to wait instead of giving this to you right away. The answer is that you, Thor, would have gotten in the way, even if I told you the correct time to act. The only option was to give you your instructions the moment you must act on them._ **

**_You will wonder how this worked at all in the first place. The answer is that he built his empire based on the unlimited power given by the blocked contract—that would be every mistake you made while attempting to whole-heartedly hunt for me. Do not feel guilty, because as you can see, it has helped in the long run. Once the contract he needed was fulfilled, he could no longer use the power of the contract on his empire, and this is why it crumbled. Being able to build high only means he has been brought lower. But why, you ask, did he build it in the first place? And where do I come into this? Because, Thor, once his power of the contract was gone, he would have me instead. And he would have used me in its stead._ **

**_You will also wonder why I have done what I have done. The answer is precisely what I have outlined above. He would have used me as a bargaining chip to gain the Tesseract, and after that, who knows? Of course, I know that those plans are useless. If I have been unable to be rid of him as I wish, once he realizes he cannot trade me for the Tesseract, the results will unfortunately be quite uncomfortable. But either way, I have removed myself from the equation; it’s only a matter of how I leave._ **

**_You will wonder why I did not tell you. The answer is that I did not know._ **

**_I hope I have answered all of your wonderings, because I don’t predict having another chance. Whether I succeed or fail, as I have told Jane Foster, it is now time for you to come and collect whatever is left of me. I do hope it is a great deal, because otherwise it would be rather painful, but I cannot promise anything. Be warned, the longer you wait, the less of me there will be, if there is anything at all._ **

**_Please hurry, Brother. It is rather strange. I, who have been on my own all of my life, suddenly find myself terrified at the prospect of being alone._ **

**_I am where I always am._ **

**_~Loki_ **

“Oh my gosh,” Jane whispered.

“What? What? What is it?” Tony plucked at the paper. Jane held it away. She had just read a private farewell letter between two brothers. She put it in her jacket pocket and kept her hand around it.  She swallowed, gazing in the direction of New York. “We need a medical transport. Either Thor is flying into a trap, or Loki has just killed himself.”

“What?” Steve’s eyes widened.

Tony made a grab for her pocket, and Jane stepped away. “As in, intentionally? What is in that? Is it a suicide note?”

“That,” Jane snapped, “Is none of your business.”

Tony stared at her. “What’s with you?”

Jane didn’t know. Her feelings were jumbled into knots. “Can we get a medical transport?”

“Maybe, but we can’t just barge after Thor.” Steve nodded to Tony, and Tony typed something into the iPad. “We’ll have to do scans for stability, radiation, and things like that. Things that aren’t deadly to Thor could easily be deadly to us.”

“Then get on it.” Jane moved the letter to an inside pocket and folded it into tiny squares, zipping the pocket shut.

ɤ

Thor flew towards New York faster than he’d flown for a few centuries. Mjolnir drew lightning from the sky, propelling him forward at an astonishing rate. The city came into view and Thor’s heart went into his throat. 

This was Loki’s doing. No doubt remained in his mind. The green haze covering the vast miles of land held Loki’s signature; the undercurrent strong enough for Thor to recognize it instantly. He could take comfort in one thing: Loki was not dead yet. But this was too strong. Thor felt his own magic singing, and it raced through Mjolnir. Thor slowed and dropped to the heaving ground outside of the green haze. He stepped forward, but it repulsed him, so he rose into the air again. The magic built up inside of him until every nerve tingled. This was rare. This was too rare. Such a large buildup of magic to make Thor feel like this could not be the work of Loki alone.

He got an overhead view, to the side of the enormous dome cloaking the city, stretching to the horizon and beyond. The ground quaked in reverse. As Thor watched, fissures drew closed. Buildings straightened, dust receding. As if time were reversing itself. Thor cast his gaze about, flying along the outside of the dome, looking for something that might indicate where in this mess Loki stood. He saw none. His brother was in there somewhere, and this force field was keeping Thor out.

“Loki!” Thor cried in desperation. “You must stop this! Whatever mad plan you have, you must end it now!” He reached out and again tried to push through the dome, but he could not. “Loki!” Thor backed away, rising higher. He _would_ break through this. He knew it to be a danger, both to himself and to Loki, but if his letter had meant anything, it meant that whatever Loki was doing, he expected it to kill him. Thor gritted his teeth, spinning Mjolnir.

He shot forward.

A moment before he reached the dome, something flashed behind his eyes, and the green haze suddenly vanished. For an instant, New York stood restored. Then something exploded. The earth heaved upwards, and several buildings upended themselves, bursting into pieces. 

Thor only had a nanosecond to see this, before he was thrown backwards, wind whistling in his ears, Mjolnir threatening to fly from his hand from the force of this windless gust.

Something rushed through his head, and the world went dark.

ɤ

A greasy taste of bloody ash. Jagged edges dug into his skin. Something struck half of his face, like tiny hailstones, the other half of his face pressed against crumbling rock.

Then sound registered; cracks like thunder, the hot flashes of explosions.

His lips throbbed.

Loki opened his eyes and stared at an overturned motor vehicle that rested about two inches from his face. Disoriented, he didn’t move. The things continued to pelt his face. Loki squeezed his eyes shut, opened them, turned.

With a jerk and a gasp he scrambled out of the way as a wall of concrete collapsed. Basketball-sized pieces of rock struck his back as he crawled away. He looked up. Dust and clouds swirled. Cables snapped, paper tore, cracks ran up the sides of buildings and along the ground.

Loki struggled to swallow the taste in his mouth, unsuccessfully. He sat on his knees, alone in the middle of a falling city. To his right, half-covered by pebbles and coated with dust, lay the body of the Other. He stared at it, feeling surprise that after so much time, it would still be sitting there, untouched by animal or decay.

Loki’s temples throbbed and he swallowed again. Water…

He couldn’t drink even if he had it. The earth heaved and with a monstrous groans and pops; one side of the street began to cave in on itself. Loki jumped to his feet, wavering, and fled, one hand in front of him in an unsteady attempt at balance.

Every nerve-ending responded with un-pained screams to the waves of dust that hit his skin. Loki grasped for his magic, but couldn’t find it. Metal bit into his skin. The bracelets.

His mind felt raw, burning, and his emotions were dead.

The ground shook again and Loki fell against a pitiful city tree. His balance left him and Loki found himself on the ground, leaning over, the taste in his mouth replaced with rotting vomit. Loki choked, swallowed, and heaved again, his mouth filling. Sticky. His magic twinged, painfully, and he tore at the bracelets. One was bent, damaged, and broke away, but his magic shied away from his touch.

It was then that he noticed his hands. He stared, not understanding. His skin still tingled with nerves. Loki stared at the skin of his hands, and then pulled back his sleeves. 

_“Do you wish yet for pain, Silvertongue?”_

It looked as though he had just bathed in a pool of fresh blood, yet he felt no injuries. Loki reached up and brushed his face, feeling slickness there as well. Dizziness overcame him and he heaved again. He held a trembling hand to his mouth as some of the liquid squeezed out from the corners of his lips. Loki touched it, and he took his fingers away. Sticky black bile hung from his fingertips in strings. A smell like death hit him.

_“Do you wish yet for pain?”_

Loki held the bile in his mouth and let it ooze out the sides, unexplained tears starting in his eyes.

_Thor._

A crack like thunder came from above, and Loki jerked his head around, panicked hope filling him. Another line of buildings wavered. Loki squeezed his eyes shut, and closed his hand into a hard fist. The tears left. Loki opened his eyes and lurched to his feet. He dodged the flying debris, ducking and stumbling through the abandoned streets. He fell against a store window, leaving bloody handprints on the glass.

_“This is what I have planned for you.”_

He rounded a corner onto a new street, passing a tanker, limbs trembling. The ground gave a violent heave and the buildings across the street cracked, spraying Loki with glass. A fissure opened underneath his feet. Loki stumbled, one foot caught in the crack, and fell onto his stomach. He scrabbled on the ground as the building above him groaned. He yanked on his foot, twisting it. Something snapped, and he pulled free with a burst of searing pain. Loki tried to stand, but a wave of weakness crashed over him and he landed on his hands and knees. He tried to crawl, and his stomach sent more bile into his throat. His vision wavered and left him, and then returned spotted with red. Black drops hit the pavement below him.

_Thor._

His arms trembled and gave out, and he landed on his stomach, struggling to pull himself forward. Nausea hit him. Debris rained down on his back. Loki suddenly stopped, curling his body slightly, looking towards the street with one cheek resting against the ground. Something glimmered on the pavement. He outstretched one arm and fingered it. It was a ring, filled with diamonds. He saw then that the ground was littered with jewelry. 

_“I’m not finished with you yet.”_

The building above him suddenly leaned forward, and a slab landed on the tank truck. A flash of light, followed by a deafening boom. Loki closed his eyes.

_Thor._

He did not move as the entire street collapsed down on top of him.

_“Remember that, Silvertongue. I’m not finished.”_

ɤ

Thor jerked up from the ground, dizzy, and frightened. How long had he been unconscious?

Silence met his ears. A light breeze rustled the grass on which he lay. The city lay at a distance, another haze covering it. This was gray and brown; dust.

Thor staggered to his feet and flew back towards it. “Loki!” He descended onto an un-toppled building, looking around him in horror and amazement. The vast majority of the structures were damaged, and many streets had been obliterated entirely, replaced by enormous piles of rubble. 

Thor put his hands to his mouth and shouted. “LOKI!”

Upon getting no response, he flew high into the air and cast his gaze about him. He didn’t understand; had Loki destroyed the city? Had he repaired it, and Thanos had destroyed it? Had a battle between then wreaked his havoc? 

Who had won?

“LOKI!” Thor shouted once more. He rose higher. If one were to try to repair or destroy the entire city, it seemed logical that they would go to the center to work. So Thor flew to the approximated center, pushing Mjolnir still faster than he had known he could go. Even this guess did not narrow down the search by much, but Thor resolved to search until he found his brother. He had been here; he must still be here. He must _._

If he wasn’t, Thor didn’t know where else to look.

The air tingled with distortions, and some skyscrapers tilted crazily, resting against other buildings. A precarious mess, ready to topple at any moment. The Tesseract, while a more precise way to travel than the Bifrost, caused disruptions in the air. Its energy could easily cause destruction if landed in such an unsteady place. Thor had to find Loki, and if he was injured, get him out of the city for help.

Thor climbed among the rubble in the used-to-be-streets, tore through a few buildings filled with smoke and broken glass, took in-air surveillance, checked for signs, never stopped shouting. He didn’t know how much time passed, but the sun passed overhead and sank, casting rosy light across the distant water.

Thor finally stopped, setting Mjolnir on the ground and sitting on a stone, covering his face with his hands. Then he cursed himself and rose once more. While he idly sat and did nothing, his _brother_ was out here somewhere—

Thor suddenly spun and crashed Mjolnir into a wall. It teetered, cracks splintering its framework, and it collapsed on itself. Thor breathed heavily, Mjolnir trembling in his grasp. He looked into the sky and let out a despairing, tortured cry. 

As he gazed at the sky, anger and misery welling over him, a little stream of smoke danced across the air and vanished. Thor blinked, bringing his gaze downward. Then another one appeared, slowly, oozing over rubble like an exhausted flying snake. Thor went to it, and the green mist dissipated.

Thor gasped. He held still, watching. Another stream appeared, going in a different direction, but from the same vantage point. Thor bolted after it, rounding the corner of the building, watching. A long time passed before he spotted another stream. He raced after it as well, never considering that this might be a trap, or a feint, or something conjured from his own imagination.

The bursts of smoke brought him to a vast area of hilled rubble, where no buildings remained standing. He stood still once more, and then watched as a small stream squeezed out from between the rocks at the base of one of the hills and floated away. Thor leapt to the spot and began to throw things out of the way.

“Loki? Loki! Can you hear me? Loki!”

The streams of smoke stopped. Thor dug a large hole in the rubble, and as he shoved away another handful, two slender fingers appeared, paleness disguised in black and crimson crust.

“No, please. Loki!”

Thor kicked away more rubble, and hauled a concrete slab the size of a car off of the ground and threw it away as if it were nothing. 

“Loki!”

His brother was there, on his side, one arm outstretched, the other tucked close by his chest. His hair covered his face. Thor shoved aside the remaining rubble and fell to his knees beside the prostrate form. 

Almost instantaneously, a smell of death crashed into him.

“Loki?” Thor brushed hair out of his brother’s face, and felt a start of both relief and surprise when he saw that the man’s eyes were half-open. “Loki?” He got no response. He was alive, barely; he had been casting magic a moment ago, and his chest rose and fell, slightly. But his eyes were blank, and his skin coated with blood, scorched, and—Thor pulled more hair out of Loki’s face and his eyes widened. “Brother, who did this to you?” he gasped. Cruel thread bound his brother’s mouth shut, the stitches awkward, thick, and clumsy. 

Thor would kill Thanos. He would killhim.

And—what was this? Something black dribbled from his brother’s mouth. A small pool gathered in a pothole in the pavement. Thor touched it and brought it to his nose. He gagged. This liquid; it held the death-smell. Thor took one of Loki’s hands and rubbed some of the blood away. His skin looked normal, but as Thor watched, more blood welled up out of it, coating it once more. Thor turned the hand over-palm up. The veins in his wrist were swollen and blackened. Thor looked at his face again, and saw the veins in his neck were the same. 

“Loki, please wake up.”

Trembling, Thor placed his brother’s hand gently back upon the ground. His appearance frightened him of course, but the smell was worse. The smell was deadly. Loki reeked of the stench, and had Thor gagged, almost retching. He touched Loki’s face, gently lifting his head from the ground, ignoring the stinking black tendrils that entangled in his hair and smeared across the side of his face that had been on the pavement. As he did so, Loki’s body rolled over onto his back. Thor held his head, tears starting in his eyes.

“Brother, I am so sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Loki’s body trembled. His open eyes blinked. His gaze focused on Thor’s face.

“Loki?” 

Loki’s eyes remained half-closed, but they stayed trained on Thor’s face. Thor thought he must be imagining things when he saw the tears swimming up and starting from his brother’s eyes.

“Are you badly injured, Loki?” Thor asked, but Loki didn’t respond. He just continued to stare at him, with those wet eyes. “I must try to take you away from here so you may get help,” Thor said. “I will carry you, all right?” Loki’s eyes widened a little, and Thor gently moved his position, still holding Loki’s head, and started to slip his arm underneath Loki’s legs.

His brother stiffened, and then arched his back, a coughing sound coming from his throat. 

“Brother!” Thor froze, staring at him. Loki’s eyes were screwed shut, and throat swallowed, swallowed, and swallowed again. The veins visibly twinged, and Loki shuddered, his body jerking, blood pooling on his lips.

If his mouth had not been sewn shut, he would have been screaming.

Horrified, Thor took his arm away and Loki went limp once more. A tear came from his brother’s shut eyes, and it was streaked with black. Thor’s heart came into his throat, and for a moment he couldn’t speak. “I must get you help,” he croaked out. “I will go for some—”

Terror shot through Loki’s face and his eyes flew open, his hand suddenly clamping around Thor’s wrist in a vise-like grip as Thor tried to stand. 

“Loki, I must get you help,” Thor said, trying to pry Loki’s fingers loose. The rest of Loki’s body remained limp, but this hand would not be loosened as Loki glared up into his face. Then as Thor watched, Loki’s face crumpled into anguish and he arched his back again.

The blood covering his skin became slick.

Thor’s throat tightened and he covered Loki’s hand with his own while he shook. When the spell passed, Loki was still shaking, and his grip was stronger, drops of blood falling from his thumb, and he stared up at the sky.

Thor sat back down beside his brother. “Loki, please—”

Loki swallowed, and then he was crying. He didn’t look at Thor; just stared at the sky as un-repressed tears welled out and began to stream down his cheeks. They were also black-ridden. His lips shook violently, and his chest heaved, muscles in his legs and arms spasming. Thor then realized that he himself was weeping. He took Loki’s head on his lap again and wiped at the constant tears with his thumbs.

“It’s all right, Brother. I am here. I am here, Loki. It’s all right.”

ɤ

_Loki stood as if dead, watching the guards pick Odin up from the stairs. His thoughts burst through his mind, whirling and twisting through each other until he couldn’t think. Numbed through. He followed the guards out as they called for help._

_Help._

_Odin…_

_More people flocked to them, a few girls ran for Eir, and Loki simply walked behind them all, feeling himself grow so weak that he thought might faint. Had he done this? Had he driven his father to death? No, not his father, no, he was still breathing, not his father, the Allfather, king of Asgard, he stood in the background, currents of people flowing around him, paying him no heed. Slights and weakness and trouble and traitor now…driving his father to this…not his father, Odin. Not his father. Not his father. Cast aside, monster. Frost Giant. Firstborn of Laufey. Traitor. Disease. Pestilent wart on the face of Asgard._

_“What is it? What has happened?” Frigga glided her way through them all as the guards bearing Odin made it to his chambers. Eir was with her. They set him down on the bed. Frigga cupped his face in her hands._

_“Odin. Allfather,” she called._

_Eir took one of his hands and was saying something to Frigga. Frigga nodded. The guards stepped back, the crowd dissipated, giving them room, the nurses remaining close to Eir. The river flowed past Loki again and left him standing at the door. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Frigga. Mother. Not mother. Mother. Not mother…_

_Loki finally gave in to the weakness and he crumpled to the floor right where he stood, not bothering to make his way to a seat. He breathed deeply, sitting cross-legged, palms flat on the smooth surface of the tiling. He stared down on it at the patterns weaving their way through the marble, hearing Eir’s soft voice speaking. Explaining. He couldn’t listen to her over the chaotic noise in his own head._

_Weakness, pest, second-hand, second prince, sworn enemy, Jotun, Frost Giant. Hurting father. Father. Father. Father._

_“Loki?”_

_Loki heard himself breathing, deeply, quickly, his gaze fastened at the floor in front of him. He couldn’t get enough air to lighten the tight heaviness in his chest. Soft fabric touched his hand as Frigga knelt down next to him, on the floor._

_“Loki,” her hand touched his face and the spell broke. Loki looked up. “What is it? What happened?”_

_Loki’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He couldn’t speak._

_“Your father is fine. It—it is the Odinsleep.”_

_Father. Weakness surged through Loki once more and his head drooped. He found his voice. “It’s—it’s been so long since—I didn’t—”_

_“I know,” Frigga said. Loki glanced up at the bed, where servants worked, gathering the blankets and pillows, and the beginnings of the golden light glowing around the bed as they worked on the spell that would allow Odin deep rest. “You were with him?”_

_“Yes.” Loki ducked his head once more._

_“What is it?” Frigga asked again, her hand touching his. “What happened?”_

_“We…” Loki glanced at his hand; a pale cream. Clean. Asgardian. “We argued…”_

_“About Thor?” Frigga said gently._

_Loki shuddered. Brother. He jerked his hand away from hers and held it in front of his face. “I—” he glanced to the door. “I need a moment. I need to—I need—” He got to his feet and, pushing away Frigga’s touch, fled the room._

_“Loki! Wait, Loki!” Frigga called from behind him, but she didn’t offer pursuit._

_Loki went to his room and fell against a bookcase, gasping hard, gripping the wood until cracks appeared in its surface. He shuddered, breaths trembling._

_“My lord?”_

_He jerked, turning around, to find a servant woman standing there in the entrance to the water-room, a rag and scrubbing brush in hand._

_Loki forced his lips apart, feeling himself choking. “I need ice.”_

_“My lord?” she questioned._

_“Ice,” Loki repeated, voice stronger and harsher with urgency. “I need a large bowl of ice, here, immediately.”_

_“Yes, my lord.” The woman looked scared. She scurried from the room. Loki turned and caught sight of his face in the mirror. His hair disheveled, eyes glaring and wild. Pain pricked his hands, and he realized he was digging his nails into his palms. Loki looked at his hands again, then at his face in the mirror. He touched one cheek._

_His body felt foreign. He felt foreign. _

_He was foreign._

_He raked his fingernails across the skin of his face, and to his surprise and indifference, a long scratch split open._

_The servant returned with the ice. Loki snatched the bowl from her, hard, some of the pieces falling out onto the carpet and glittering there like diamonds._

_“Get out. Now.” His voice teetered in the midst of a whisper and a scream. She fled._

_Loki set the bowl on the bed and plunged both of his hands into it. A flash of cold, and then a cooling sensation spread across his skin. Loki pulled his hands back out, but they remained pale. He picked up a handful with one hand and pressed it against the back of the other. He took a piece and ran it across his skin._

_Turn. Turn. Turn._

_This was why he liked the cold. Even in this form, he liked the cold. Why was he in this form?_

_“Turn, damn you!” he hissed, and bit off some of the ice and let it sit on his tongue while he sucked it. His fingers were turning numb, but not turning color. His cheek burned and two tiny drops of blood slipped down and hit one of his thumbs._

_“Loki.”_

_Loki tensed, closing both of his hands around the melting ice. “Please leave.” His voice was roughened and quiet._

_“You scared Myida,” Frigga said. “She told me she thought perhaps you had been burnt.”_

_Loki took his hands out of the bowl and turned, his voice clearing. “She told you?”_

_“She was worried.” Frigga put out a hand. “What happened to your face?”_

_Loki knocked her hand away and stepped backwards, slipping his own hand back into the bowl, where it sat behind him on the bed. “Frost Giants burn people,” he said, clenching his teeth in anger and horror. “With ice. It’s a flame built from cold. They freeze you with a touch. Their own bodies are weapons. The Ljosaldfar have the gift of nature in sorcery. Jotuns, they—are gifted in illusions. Did you know that? As a people, their sorcerers usually have the gift of illusions. Like the Ljosaldfar sorcerers usually have the gift of nature.”_

_“Loki, what happened in the weapons vault?” Frigga asked softly, confusion and worry playing over her face._

_His world crumbled all at once, and his legs gave out. Loki sat on the bed, ignoring the sharp pains going through his hand at the chill of the ice. Again, his voice left him and he could only speak in the breath of a whisper._

_“Did I ever burn you?”_

_Frigga’s face cleared and her fingers went to her mouth. “Oh, Loki.”_

_“ Did I?” His voice was breaking, and for a terrifying, humiliating instant her image blurred. _

_“How did you—” she began._

_“Did I?” his voice was bordering a scream again. “ Tell me!”_

_Fear crossed her face. She was afraid of him, now that he knew what he was. Had she always been afraid of him? “No.”_

_“Do not lie to me!” His fury and pain was growing. He found himself shaking._

_She came forward, timidly, stretching out a hand. “Loki, listen to me—”_

_“Do not touch me!” Loki ducked under her reach and, sliding off the bed, rounded it and put it between him and Frigga. In the sudden scramble, the bowl of ice overturned and spilled crystals and water across the carpet._

_“Loki, you never burned me,” Frigga said, and she rounded the bed as well, but stayed a distance away from him as he stood with his back against the door that led to his balcony._

_“Stop lying!” Loki shouted. He felt magic flowing through his limbs as his anger built. He put his palms against the door to keep it from accidentally sparking out. He leaned forward. “Stop lying to me,_ Mother _!”_

_“Loki!” Frigga stood rigid with her hands at her sides. “Listen to me!”_

_Loki’s chest heaved. He felt himself drowning._

_“When your father picked you up, you changed your form by yourself,” Frigga said, quietly, gently, desperately._

_Loki’s lips trembled beyond his control. “How—?”_

_“There were times when you shifted back, but whenever we touched you, you returned to Aesir form. Over time, you stopped shifting to Jotun form.”_

_She’d said it. Loki’s body sank a few inches as he slid partway down the door. Jotun. “But…”_

_“But you never burned us. Any of us.”_

_It became harder and harder to form injured sounds into words. “Who knows?”_

_“No one but your father and I, Heimdall, and you.”_

_“Thor…?”_

_“Thor does not know.”_

_Loki felt dark laughter bubbling up out of him. “How did the Allfather manage to hide me from his warriors? How did he manage to explain an Aesir baby on a Jotunheim battlefield? How did you manage to hide for all of these years the shame of adopting a Frost Giant into the Aesir royal family?”_

_“Loki.” A rebuke._

_“Did you not know that you were endangering the throne to Jotun rule should anything happen to Thor? Or do you have another inheritance planned?”_

_“Loki.”_

_Loki stopped laughing, and he slid the rest of the way to the floor and put his face in his hands._

_Fabric rustled beside him as Frigga once again knelt down next to him. He felt her hesitation, and he shrank away before she could decide whether or not to put her hand on his back._

_“Please leave,” he muttered, keeping his face covered, hardly able to speak over the choking tightness in his chest._

_“Loki…” A plea._

_“Leave me.”_

_She obeyed him, but it didn’t help, and his world continued to break apart. Loki locked the doors and hid from Heimdall._

_Water gathered on the carpet between his knees._

ɤ

Loki could not think, and he did not try. The intense pain inside him crushed all thoughts, and whenever the pain flared out his mind went numb and blank, and every nerve burned and swelled and _burst._

Thor had woken him out of his exhausted despair, which was replaced by fear. Fear that Thor would leave him while he was dying. Loki did not want to be alone. He was _terrified_ of being alone. He did not want to die alone.

And he was dying.

So he kept a hold on Thor, no matter how much it sent shards of agony through him. He couldn’t see straight or breathe smoothly and he didn’t know why, but he felt gentle strokes on his overly-sensitive skin, and the painless touch on his face and temples was something to focus on instead of the rupturing in the rest of his body. 

He heard Thor’s voice, too, running over him like a calming river of icy water. Whenever the agony seized him, every other sense left, but when he returned, exhausted and momentarily numbed, except for a strange stinging in his eyes, Thor was always still there and had not left while he was deafened and blinded.

_Thor._

It seemed to last an eternity; the bouts of pain, the moments of rest, the gentle flow of touch and sound.

Loki allowed his grip on Thor to relax, which resulted in Thor taking his hand and stroking it with one thumb while he continued to run his other fingers across Loki’s face. Loki’s eyelids drifted shut.

ɤ

“There!” Pepper grasped Natasha’s shoulder as lightening shot from the sky. “There they are!”

“I see them.” Natasha turned the Quinjet-turned-medical-bay towards the spot of red that was Thor. Despite still being weak and not entirely well, Natasha had insisted on coming and flying. ‘It’s not like I have to stand up while doing it,’ she’d said. Jane stood beside Pepper, with her face all but pressed up against the window.     

Bruce glanced up from checking their meager stock of medical supplies. The distant Thor set the hammer down. Loki’s head lay in his lap, and he wasn’t moving.

“Oh no,” Pepper breathed.

“Is he dead?” Sif pushed past Bruce, followed by a troop of the other Avengers and Asgardians. Odin had stayed behind with the Asgardian troops, to make preparations for receiving Loki, and to not panic him at the sight of his father. SHIELD worked with the military and the government to try to find out what had happened to the Chitauri around the world.

Pepper held out both of her arms like a traffic cop and shooed the small crowd back. 

“I don’t know. Can you land this thing any faster, Widow?”

“Give me a moment,” Natasha said as she circled the area. “There isn’t a landing pad, if you haven’t noticed, and I’d rather not send an avalanche down on top of them.”

Bruce squeezed past the anxious huddle to speak to the SHIELD medical team standing at the door. “When we land, we’ll need to be quick. But don’t rush Loki all at once; we don’t know if he’s unconscious or how badly injured he is, or if he’s even alive, but if he feels threatened and can fight back, he probably will. We need to make sure he understands we’re trying to help him, not finish killing him. Got it?”

The three medics just looked dubious and didn’t answer.

“I’ll go first,” Bruce said, a little irritated, though he probably shouldn’t be; it wasn’t like Loki could kill him. The medics nodded, and Bruce’s stomach lurched as their altitude suddenly dropped.

“Sorry,” Natasha said. “Almost there.”

“The same goes for you.” Pepper waved a finger at the Asgardians and the Avengers. “No rushing. Stay behind Bruce, okay?”

_Crunch._

Everybody wobbled and stuck out their arms to catch their balance, and Natasha opened the door. Bruce slung his bag over his shoulder and stepped out. Natasha had landed them some ways away from Thor and Loki. The twilight cast sharp shadows across jagged edges, confusing his sight and making it hard to tell which dark places actually were gaping holes in the uneven landscape, and which were shadows. 

Thor didn’t get up to meet them. Instead, as they made their way over, Thor leaned over Loki’s face and spoke softly to him. Bruce had to get closer before he could hear what he was saying.

“Brother, Dr. Banner is coming, with our friends. They are here to help you, all right? Please lie still. Try to relax. I will not let them harm you; they are here to help.”

That did not sound encouraging, and Bruce felt more than heard or saw the hesitation from the people behind him. He stopped a few feet away from Thor, feeling suddenly nauseous. Was there a dead squirrel or dog nearby or something?

“How is he, Thor?” He murmured quietly. The light made it hard to tell anything, except that Loki was certainly not the cleanest he’d ever been in his life.

Thor looked up, cradling Loki’s face in his hands. The trickster’s eyes were open, but unfocused.

“I do not know,” he said his voice ragged. “I’m not sure he can even understand me.”

“Has he—” Bruce started to ask if he had said anything, but he stopped short. “Why’s his—did you guys—why’s his mouth sewn shut again?”

“Thanos,” Thor growled. “It must be.”

“Okay. Keep him calm for me, all right?” Bruce came a few more steps forward. “Hey Loki, remember me?” Loki didn’t respond, and Bruce knelt down. The stench struck him as he got closer, and he realized this smell was coming from Loki. Bruce had seen and smelled similar things, so he pretended not to notice, though he felt a little crystal or horror in his heart, because the similar things he’d smelled had been dead and rotting for days.

Thor brushed Loki’s forehead. “Dr. Banner is going to look at you now, Loki. Stay still.” He glanced back up at Bruce. “Please, be very gentle. Most touch pains him.”

Loki’s hand was icy, and bloody, and it quivered reflexively as he touched it. Bruce examined him as quickly as he could, feeling an utter loss and confusion. He assumed that the black substance both coming from his mouth was the same that was becoming evident in all of his blood veins. He pretended not to notice the open vulnerability in Loki’s blank expression, and the obvious tear stains covering his cheeks and Thor’s hands. 

“Oh—” Pepper stood above them, with one hand cupped over his nose and mouth, and a horrified, nauseated expression on her face.

After a minute, Bruce sat back. “I have to be honest with you, Thor, I have no idea what’s wrong with him. This is way beyond me. But he’s going fast, and we have got to get him to Asgard.”

At that word, Loki jerked, his eyes focused, and he stared up at Thor, his gaze flickering back and forth. Bruce instinctively jumped back, as did the others who had dared come a little closer. Thor remained calm. 

“It’s all right, Loki. We need get take you somewhere where they have the skill to heal you.”

Loki didn’t change his blank expression; he had the look of someone whose mind was elsewhere, while foreigners around him spoke in a strange language. He looked at Thor, but didn’t seem to see him. As if he were blind.

“Can you pick him up, Thor?” Jane asked from behind Bruce.

Thor looked down at his brother for a long moment, and then he looked back up, pained. “I—don’t think I can.”

“He’s going to die if we just leave him here, Thor,” Bruce said.

“I know. But—you will have to carry him. I—I tried already, a few minutes ago, and I—cannot. I cannot.”

Then Bruce understood.

_Most touch pains him._

Jane came to Thor’s side and hooked her arm through his. Sif put her hand on Jane’s shoulder. “Then set his head down and step back. We can carry him.”

“Is there a way to render him unconscious?” Thor didn’t move.

“Not unless you want to use Mjolnir. I don’t think any of our stuff could knock him out.” Bruce shook his head.

Thor set his lips tight together and gently moved back, setting Loki’s head on the ground. Loki’s eyes widened a bit, and then he grimaced. Thor began to stand, and utter panic came into Loki’s face. He flung a hand up and caught Thor’s sleeve. Bruce flinched, surprised that a clearly confused, pained Loki could move so fast.

“I am staying here, Brother, but you need to let them carry you,” Thor said, struggling to pry Loki’s fingers away. Loki did not let go. Sif walked around Thor to Loki’s other side and nodded to the other warriors. Volstagg and Fandral came up, and Bruce backed away.

“Watch his ankle, it’s broken,” Bruce said. “And…please be—gentle.” 

Sif gave him a hard look that wasn’t quite a glare. “Loki was our friend,” she said. “Of course we’ll be gentle.”

Sif and Volstagg knelt down on their heels and put their hands against Loki’s body. Loki flinched, and, still staring at nothing, his free hand came up and slapped Sif across the face. The sharp sound of the impact echoed across the rubble. She didn’t react, but Loki drew his hand back with a sharp intake of breath, and his body trembled. 

Sif and Volstagg stared at each other for a few seconds, and without an obvious signal, both began to lift at once.

Loki jerked, and he let go of Thor in order to strike out at Volstagg, pale fingers gripping as his throat. They must not have had much strength left, because Vosltagg bore them without a grimace. Loki’s body left a wet patch on the street. Thor stood as if frozen, and it was Jane who pulled him away. Loki then seemed to realize his mistake, because as he flung his arm back out and could not find Thor again, panic struck his eyes and ragged, wet choking sounds came from his throat as his body began to jerk nonsensically. Sif and Volstagg began trekking, awkwardly, towards the Quinjet, with Fandral holding Loki’s leg and ankle to keep it from jostling. 

Bruce stood with his heart in his throat. It was slow going, across the mountainous, treacherous rubble, the Asgardians carefully watching for holes. Even as they walked away, Bruce could see Loki’s body begin to spasm. He didn’t writhe, but his muscles jerked and his arms flopped in a manner beyond Loki’s control. His head thrown back, occasional desperate strikes at his bearers. The helpless, voiceless drowning sounds Loki made as he spasmed turned Bruce’s stomach.

Jane had taken Thor and pushed him around, forcing him to keep his back towards Loki, with both arms around him. Pepper stood with both of her hands over her mouth, silent tears coming down her cheeks, her shoulders quivering. Tony broke away from the group of frozen medics and Avengers to go to her. She took her hands down.

“Why doesn’t he just faint?” she whispered, and then collapsed against Tony, burying her face in his shoulder. He cursed softly, putting one arm around her.

The Asgardians finally reached the Quinjet and they entered with Loki. Bruce stood, still frozen, as did the medics and the other Avengers. They did not emerge for a long time, and then despite the distance of the Quinjet, they all heard a coughing gurgling noise, and then silence. 

The group unfroze, and Thor leapt ahead of everybody else and flung himself into the Quinjet. By the time Bruce got back, Thor was next to the cot, leaning over his brother again. Natasha, without a word, put the Quinjet into flight. Everybody kept their distance, and nobody spoke a word.

Loki was worse. He was no longer the calm, if dead-looking, man when they’d first arrived. His eyes were wide and glaring, the whites turned to a murky grey, chest staggering in shallow, wet breathes, veins swollen and taunt, blood spreading through his clothes from his entire body, and the tears coming out in steady black streams. He did not acknowledge Thor.

Bruce made eye contact with Natasha, and the Quinjet accelerated.

ɤ

Jane sat with a quilt around her shoulders, her hands cupped around a steaming Styrofoam cup of coffee she didn’t feel like drinking. Despondent gloom hung over everybody. They ought to be—if not happy, at least satisfied. The Chitauri were mostly gone—some military of some country found a few stragglers every day, but the Chitauri were gone. Vanished back to where they’d come from. London, St. Petersburg, Mexico City, Hong Kong, not to mention New York and a few other places, had been decimated when the Chitauri fell. But they were gone.

Pepper sat in a doctor’s-office-style chair across the room, resting her forehead in her palm. She seemed to have taken Loki’s condition harder than the others. The first day after the Asgardians left for Asgard, her consistently red eyes had provoked a comment from a tense Tony at perhaps a very inopportune time, ‘Pepper, anybody would think your Great Aunt Mary had just died.’

She had turned her furious gaze on him. ‘What, Tony, you don’t think I should be upset? You don’t think this matters? I know we all think of Loki as an evil overlord who kills people for fun, but maybe you can’t remember, or maybe all of you cowards just didn’t get close enough, but I looked into his face out there and I didn’t see an evil overlord. I saw a broken, terrified boy in agony, and maybe it’s just me, but that should never rest well with anybody _._ ’

Tony should have backed down then, but the drink in his hand wasn’t helping his judgment, and neither was his sleep-deprived state. ‘Loki is not a boy.’

‘I know that, Tony! I know perfectly well what Loki is, and what he isn’t. But I simply do not care. I know what I saw.”

Jane rubbed her eyes and made herself sip at the coffee. She had not taken a good look at Loki, mostly because she was trying to keep Thor calm, but she couldn’t explain the uneasiness inside of her, and she couldn’t deny the knowledge that the uneasiness was not simply coming from sympathy for Thor’s feelings.

The sleepy smell rose from her cup, and Jane leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She awoke only when a familiar deep voice rumbled in the room. She sat up, spilling now-cold coffee across the hardwood.

“Thor!” She uncrossed her legs and jumped up. All of the Avengers crowded around him as he turned and acknowledged her with a nod. He looked even more exhausted than when they’d left a week ago. Jane took his hand. “How is he?”

“Loki is alive,” Thor told them. And, inexplicably, a collaborate feeling of tension dropped from the group.

“And?” Jane prodded.

“And…” Thor’s gaze became distant, and he looked lost.

“Here, how about we all sit down?” Tony pulled up a chair to the group and plopped down into it. The others mimicked him, and they sat in a circle. Even Clint, looking guarded, allowed himself to be pulled into this literal circle of concern for Loki.

“Loki…” Thor hesitated again. “Loki’s condition is precarious. He is only—he is as confused as you saw him last. We tried once to get him to write, but he did not understand what we meant and could not seem to process our words.” He stopped, head bowed.

Jane squeezed his hand. “Do you know what’s wrong with him?”

“It’s complicated,” Thor said. “There is more than one component. Primarily—what was threatening to kill him earlier—was most of the injuries that you saw, Bruce. But we still do not understand why or how he has sustained it.”

“But you know what it is?” Bruce asked. 

Thor nodded. “We believe so. It is magic-induced, but not like the regular wounds magic can give on a battlefield. I believe I have tried to tell you before that magic does not come from Loki, but through him?” The Avengers nodded. “This is different than a wound received on a battlefield. And it is very rare; Eir has only seen an injury like it once before. It is—magic. An overwhelming current of magic that comes through his body until it kills him.”

“Like electrocuting?” Tony piped up. 

Thor shrugged. “It is rare because it is extremely difficult and extremely exhausting to kill someone by raw magic itself, instead of by something conjured by magic. The sorcerer needs to have the capacity to send that much magic through someone so that it kills them. And Loki’s—Loki’s magic capacity is very large indeed, so for another being to be able to kill him by that means...”

“So this Thanos character tried to kill him with raw energy?”

Thor looked at the ground again. “It was not Thanos. This is—more severe. Loki—you know that his magic is a part of him. It does not easily part from him, and it does not harm him. It is impossible for his own magic to deliberately harm him. There are a few, roundabout exceptions, but that is true for the most part. That his own magic cannot harm him, anymore than your own organs can attack your own body. Yet—this magic did. The magic that has injured Loki did not come from an outside source; it came from Loki himself.”

Tony leaned forward. “How does that work?”

Thor shrugged. “We do not know. But those are the signs. And until Loki regains his speech, we will not know.”

Natasha spoke up, with both her arms and her legs crossed. “So his mouth is still sewn shut.”

Thor nodded, looking pained. “It is not within anyone’s authority that we know of to cut it.”

Pepper gasped. “Nobody can cut it?”

Thor shook his head. “Somebody can. It is not possible to spell the thread otherwise. But we do not know who, and Loki cannot and has not told us who it is. I fear—that it is Thanos.”

“So why not go capture the bloody bastard and force him to?” Tony snapped.

“We do not know where he is. Even if he has returned to the Chitauri world, which is unknown, we have been unsuccessful in our attempts to use the Tesseract to get there.”

“If he recovers from this, though, he should be fine, right?” Jane squeezed his hand again. 

Thor briefly rested his forehead against his palm. “No.”

The atmosphere got tense again. Nobody spoke, waiting for Thor to explain himself. After a moment he collected himself and sat up.

“The thread is killing him.”

A chorus of ‘what’s rose from the circle. 

Thor let go of Jane and held up both of his hands, silencing their surprise. He clasped his hands together and contemplated the floor for a moment. “It is—like a virus that is attacking him. His most immediate danger is the rupturing in his body that the magic caused, but even if he recovers entirely from that, the thread will still be attacking him.”

“I thought the thread just kept him from talking,” Clint spoke up, in a neutral tone, making everybody glance at him. “By ‘killing him’, do you mean him dying from starvation half a year from now?”

Thor shook his head. “That was all it did when it was a part of his punishments. But magic was added to this thread; deadly magic. If…if we can find nothing to counteract it, no one to cut it…Loki will die in a matter of weeks.”

Pepper covered her mouth. Steve looked professionally concerned and sympathetic. Clint and Natasha were unreadable. Bruce sighed. Tony leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose, cursing under his breath.

Jane touched Thor’s arm, her throat constricting. Thor didn’t look at her, but covered her hand with his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: What is it that Loki wants? To what lengths is he willing to go to get it?


	13. Break

_Loki was not feeling so sure of himself as he stood in the sun, sweating, and nervous enough to feel that he was going to throw up. Because this was his chance, the non-athletic weakling prince, to prove himself a warrior. Thor stood a little apart from him in the line, flashing him a grin. Loki smiled back. Orvar finished the demonstration._

_“Fandral,” he called. “I want you and Loki to practice the basic high cuts.”_

_Fandral pouted, but obeyed. Loki took the light wooden sword that Hogun held out to him. He turned to face Fandral while Orval continued giving instructions to the other boys._

_“Come on, hold it up, like this.” Fandral sounded bored, and Loki quickly took the stance that Orvar had demonstrated a moment ago. Fandral darted forward without any warning and cut down. Loki blocked it, wildly, and Fandral’s sword slid down across his and slid off, scraping against his knuckles. Loki let out a short gasp, but he shook his hand once and decided to ignore the small amount of blood. He tried it next, against Fandral, and was blocked. Fandral came down hard. Loki responded too late, something twisted, and Loki found himself on the ground with his shoulder throbbing. Fandral looked surprised, and a little disgusted. “Thor didn’t fall down on_ basics _his first day,” he said. Loki got back to his feet without a word._

_He kept getting knocked down that day. He was just too timid, too unsure, too unfamiliar. When they play-fought it was wild opportunities and hurried defense, not this calculated, tedious, repetition of motions. Loki had done lots of play-fighting, so he didn’t expect the weapons to feel so foreign in his hands._

_At the end of the session, his body throbbing and bruised, Loki quickly helped in the clean-up and then scurried away. He wound his way through the maze of hedges to an isolated spot in a sea of red. He sat down, wrapping his arms around his knees, and started to cry._

_He didn’t mean to, but he couldn’t help it. Everybody was laughing at him. He felt stupid, unprepared, and weak. Thor loved training. Thor improved quickly. Everybody loved Thor, and even when he got knocked down he bounced right back up, laughing, and eager to get back at whomever had bested him. _

I hate it. _Loki thought._ I hate it.

_And he was furious with himself for thinking that. He had looked forward to this for two years, why couldn’t—_

_A soft footstep startled his sobs into silence, and Loki held still, but didn’t look up._

_“It’s okay, Loki.” Thor sat down next to him, putting one arm across his shoulder. “I didn’t like it my first day either.”_

_Thor was lying. Loki remembered perfectly his ecstasy after the first day. But he smiled a little bit; it was a lie, but a nice lie._

_“It gets better, I promise.”_

_“It does?” Loki looked up and wiped at his nose. “But what if I don’t like it? You love it. I’m not like you. I might hate it.” And the tears started up again._

_“You won’t.” Thor hugged him while big tears started to spot Loki’s trousers. He let him cry for a few more seconds before giving Loki one more squeeze. “Come now, Loki. Warriors do not cry.”_

_Loki blinked, looking up again. “Am I a warrior?” he asked, incredulously, but hopefully._

_“You’re a son of Odin. Of course you are.” Thor stood up and held a hand out to him. Loki scrubbed at his face, a warm feeling spreading through him. There. Somebody did think he could do it. Thor thought he could do it. So he would._

_Loki grabbed Thor’s hand and stood up._

_He started the next day with grim determination. He concentrated hard, working to copy stances perfectly, to the tiniest detail. He got knocked down still, but not as much, and he made himself not care about the throbbing bruises._

_Warriors did not cry._

_More days passed, and Loki advanced enough to participate in mini-fights, where only basics were allowed to be used. He found himself standing opposite to one of the older boys that Loki did not like. It wasn’t Hogun, but some other brown-haired bully of an upper family; Torthegn. Orvar usually regulated the fights, and he put Torthegn and Loki in a ring together, but turned to say something to Hogun, and to organize other rings. Loki thought that they were waiting, but Torthegn suddenly charged. Adrenaline shot through Loki and he froze. Torthegn stopped short, his mouth dropping open._

_“Hey…what…”_

_Loki realized what he’d done, and he reappeared._

_Torthegn’s face contorted in fury. “You can’t do that!”_

Why not? _Loki wondered._ I could in battle if I wanted. _He shrugged and said, “Sorry,” and they started again._

_Loki fought with him, was knocked down, managed to hit him once, and then another opportunity presented itself as Torthegn spun out of his line of sight, and Loki knew he was about to be legally pummeled._

_“STOP DOING THAT!” Torthegn shouted. “That’s cheating!”_

_Loki reappeared, getting angry. “No it’s not.”_

_“Yes it is! You’re just scared, that’s it!” Torthegn threw his wooden sword down. “You’re just a coward who is too scared to fight fair!”_

Battles aren’t fair. _Loki thought, and he glowered back. “I’m not scared. I just don’t like to get hit.”_

_“You don’t like it, so you’re scared of it!” Torthegn said. “You’re a coward!”_

_“I am not!”_

_“COWARD!”_

_Thor suddenly burst into their ring and shoved Torthegn hard. “Don’t you DARE call my BROTHER a COWARD!” he shouted._

_“Well he is!” Torthegn snapped, shoving Thor back._

_“He is NOT!” Thor swung at him._

_“Thor!” Loki protested, but both Torthegn and Thor ignored him and soon they were both on the ground clawing at each other._

_“ENOUGH!” Orvar came onto the scene, followed by Hogun. Orvar kicked dust into their faces. “I said enough!” He bent down and grabbed the two boys, tearing them apart from each other. “I said enough, both of you!” he set them down, where they stood glaring at each other. The other boys gathered around them, curious. “What started this?” he said, after giving them a full minute to cool down._

_“He called Loki a coward,” Thor said._

_“That’s because he is,” Torthegn said._

_“Is not!”_

_“Is too!”_

_“Stop!” Ovar shoved a palm in each of their faces. “Torthegn?”_

_Torthegn shot Loki a glare. “He was cheating.”_

_Orvar looked at Loki. “Loki?”_

_Loki grew hot. “I wasn’t cheating.”_

_“He turned invisible!” Torthegn burst out. Collective gasps and whispers rose from the groups and a hundred eyes turned to Loki. “Whenever we got close enough to actually fight he turned invisible!”_

_Orvar raised an eyebrow. “Is that so, Loki?”_

_Loki bit his tongue and nodded, blood rushing to his face. He didn’t like the way they were all staring at him. “It’s what I would do in a real battle,” he muttered._

_“Perhaps you would,” Orvar said. “But for practice’s sake, you must stick to using the drills set out for these bouts. No turning invisible.”_

_“See?” Torthegn said smugly. “Cheating.”_

_Orvar smacked Torthegn’s head. “Enough out of you. You and Thor both get extra laps and pull-ups. No more bouts today, since you have clearly already had plenty of practice fighting. Go.”_

_The others gradually dispersed back into their groups, and Orvar pulled Loki apart for personal practice with him. Loki felt the others continuing to stare and whisper. Maybe hoping to see him turn invisible; a freak show. A cowardly freak show now._

_No, not cowardly. Thor did not think him a coward._

_“Master Orvar?” he asked when they stopped for a breather. “Why do I need to practice these when I can just get good at magic?”_

_“Because,” Orvar spun his sword in his hand. “You never know what options you will need. You are lucky enough to have an extra option available to you. Besides, learning this sort of fighting alongside developing magical skills means that you may eventually merge them, and become even more excellent at both. Also, perhaps one day you will find yourself in a situation without magic. That is not unheard of. Or perhaps you will find yourself matched with another sorcerer, who can use both magic and the sword. What will you do against him then?”_

_“I guess,” Loki said._

_Later that day, Loki did not feel like going back to the palace. He stayed in the weapons shed, looking at the dangerous things displayed on the walls. The big things always drew everyone’s attention; the axe, the sword, the shield, the mace. Hogun in particular like the mace. But as Loki studied the displays, he noticed something smaller to the side. Actually, a collection of somethings. He moved down the wall towards them. Arranged in a circle, with the blades turned outwards. Knives. Some small, some larger, some broad, some thin. Loki found himself enchanted by their looks; small, almost frail, but deadly, and plain, but beautiful._

_“They are throwing daggers.” Loki spun, and found Orvar standing behind him. He looked steadily at the blades, and Loki turned back around. “They are one of the most difficult weapons to master; unless understood perfectly, they cannot ward off close attacks. Yet unlike the bow and arrow, they can be used both near and far, in the hands of the right person.”_

_“I like the look of them,” Loki said. “When do we learn them?”_

_“We don’t.” Orvar reached up and took down one of the lowest of the daggers, spinning it in his hand. The sunlight glinted off the blade, sending beams whirling around the room. “Primarily because the first skill you have to learn is target practice and throwing, and unlike the sword, you can’t do that with wooden daggers. Can you imagine trying to teach a bunch of young boys how to throw sharp objects? It is hard to picture a positive outcome.”_

_Loki sighed, watching the light spin on the blade. “Perhaps I can learn when I am older,” he said, staring longingly back at the blades on the wall._

_“Would you like to hold it?” Orvar asked suddenly._

_Loki’s heart gave a leap. Would he? “Yes! Yes, please,” he said, breathlessly. Orvar handed him the blade. Its black leather handle set firm and warm in his palm. Easy to grasp, easy to control. It also felt unexpectedly heavy for such a small weapon. Loki held it out, turning it back and forth so that the sun flashed in his eyes. He caught sight of his own reflection, and was surprised to see that he was grinning._

_“Here,” Orvar’s hands touched his own, turning the blade around. “You hold it this way.” His hands on his shoulders now, Orvar turned him to face the opposite wall. “Relax your shoulders. Don’t hold it quite so tight; just firm enough to keep a hold on it. You aren’t going to keep holding onto it, after all. Pull your arm straight back over your head.” Loki held his breath, blood pounding in his face, unable to believe that Orvar was really doing this. What had he just said about teaching boys to throw sharp objects? “Now go.”_

_Loki threw. The knife wobbled off to the side and hit the dirt. Loki bit his lip, embarrassed. Orvar took another knife from the wall and handed it to him. “Keep your wrist straight this time, and don’t let it flick like that.”_

_Loki tried again. It didn’t reach the opposite wall, but it went straight, and stabbed into the dirt._

_“Better.” Orvar handed him another one. “You’re still holding it too tightly. Loosen your grip so you don’t have to throw so hard to counteract your own hand.”_

_Loki threw for a third, fourth, and a fifth time. He lost count of the numbers, but eventually, it stabbed into the wood with a satisfying_ thunk _. It was slanted, and at a tilted ankle, but it was in the wood. Loki grinned again, not caring about the prickling of sweat on his back and the heaviness of the humid air in his lungs._

_“Good.” Orvar picked up all of the scattered daggers. “You had better go now. Someone may be looking for you.”_

_“Thank you,” Loki said. Orvar smiled and nodded._

ɤ

Thor sat slumped over, his head in his arms, not really sleeping, not really awake, hovering in a half-formed world where there were no thoughts, only sensations. Loki had been in a forced sleeping state for several days now, out of hope that it would help him to recover. Many of his blood vessels had burst, his organs had ruptured, and the stinking black bile had been the results of some bizarre void-world substance interacting with his tissues.

It had been a nightmare, that first week. Where Loki, fully conscious and yet not fully present, had flailed and feverishly fought those trying to help stop his pain. He would work and sweat for hours until he managed to force out sudden, bare sparks of magic that made him writhe in silent screams. Then Eir had forced him into this, and Thor had gone back to Earth for a day.

Listless now, whenever he managed to tear himself away from Loki’s side, he wandered aimlessly in the palace, responding negatively to any activities offered by his friends, and then panic would hit him and he would race back to Loki’s medical ward to search for change that never came. At last, earlier, Eir had lifted the sleeping spell from him and said that when he woke up naturally, they would know if he was recovered.

So when Thor heard movement in the bed beside him, he jerked up off of the bedside table, bleary, but fully awake.

Loki stared up at the ceiling, blinking slowly, a perplexed expression on his face.

“Loki?”

Loki turned his head and stared at Thor until Thor’s toes curled and his heart rate quickened, hard and heavy in his chest.

_Please, know me, know me, know me…_

Loki blinked again, and his expression cleared. He glanced around the room, his face hardened, and he lifted one arm and draped it over his face.

“Brother! You are recovered!” Thor shouted with joy, snatching up one of Loki’s hands. Loki yanked it back out of his grasp. “We have been—so worried for you! The magic had almost destroyed you, but we’ve kept you here—two weeks already! The first you did not know yourself, the second you slept through, and we have not been sure whether you would make i—”

Loki raised himself on his elbows and something icy and sharp slapped Thor across the face. He stumbled backwards from surprise. The blue light dissolved in mid-air, with a flick of Loki’s upraised fingers. 

“Brother!” Thor said, holding one side of his face, startled, but happy. “Your magic is well too!”

Loki looked utterly astonished. He stared at his fingers, moved them again, and green fire intertwined around them. He raised his hand and sent it about the room in dancing curves, before it returned and settled in his palm. Loki stared at it for a long time, then closed his fingers over it. When his hand opened again it was gone, and Loki turned his gaze to Thor, frowning.

“What is it? Is it not all there? Is it difficult to cast, Brother?” 

Loki shook his head, winced, and he glanced away, tracing the lines of the thread with his fingers. Oh yes, of course, that was imperative.

“Loki, we have been trying to discover who it was that bound your voice again. Was it Thanos?”

Loki visibly stiffened, and Thor felt a rush of anger. It was true then. Thanos. That deceitful, cruel, vile—

Loki was shaking his head. 

“Was it the dwarves, then? Or bounty hunters that found and recognized you?”

Loki shook his head again. 

“Then who—” 

The door came open, and Odin stood in the doorway. Loki’s eyes widened, and for a split second he and Odin stared at one another. Then Odin crossed the short distance to the bed. Loki sat up, scrambling backwards, kicking away the sheets, until he bumped against Thor on the other side. Odin leaned forward, took Loki by the wrist and pulled him forward, hooking one arm around Loki’s torso and resting his chin against Loki’s shoulder. Things froze again, with Odin leaning down in that half-embrace. Loki jerked his wrist from Odin, brought both hands against his chest, and with a flash of light, shoved.

The force of the magic-fuelled push sent Loki flying against Thor, who automatically put his arms around him and stumbled backwards to keep from falling. Odin fell back as well, but didn’t fall. Loki pulled away from Thor’s unintended embrace, wavered for a moment, and then slumped to the ground. Fear stabbed into Thor, and he tried to pull him up again, but Loki scrambled back, his face crimson and enraged, breaths coming fast and uneven. He got to his feet on his own, and stood glaring poison at Odin. 

Odin stood expressionless where Loki had pushed him, with his arms hanging at his sides. Then he turned around and left the room.

Thor couldn’t contain himself. “Loki!”

Without looking at him, Loki stepped uncertainly forward and climbed back onto the bed. He rested his arms on his knees and stared at the bedcovers, eyes narrowed.

“Loki…” Thor pleaded, at a loss as to what to say. “Please, Loki. Father loves you.”

Loki continued to stare at nothing, and Thor glanced up as Eir came into the room.

“I see you have awakened, Loki,” she said, coming slowly to the bedside. She gave Thor a pointed look. Thor suspected that she knew something of the interaction between Loki and Odin. “Will you allow me to examine you and see what injuries remain?”

Loki did not acknowledge either her entrance or her presence, but he didn’t resist her when she sat down on the edge of the bed and took his hand. He flinched when she pushed the fabric of his sleeve back, tracing her fingers along the skin.

“Does that pain you?”

He didn’t answer.

“Loki, I cannot help you if you do not answer me.”

Thor watched the tenseness between them, remembering how Loki had spend several weeks with Eir, struggling to learn healing magic from her, something that he only got a grasp on after months of practice. Loki continued to look down and not answer. Eir sighed and let go of his hand. Loki rested it against his knees once more. Eir took his hair and brushed it back, exposing one side of his neck. She set her fingertips against it and closed her eyes. Loki flinched again. After a moment, Eir opened her eyes.

“The most pressing issue at present is the thread that is assaulting you,” she said, reaching into the folds of her skirt and producing a pencil and paper. “If we are to fight against it, you must tell me everything you know about it. Where and when you received it, what magic you can feel in it, anything at all.” She offered the paper to him, but Loki didn’t take it.

“Loki,” Thor pressed.

Loki didn’t move, sitting and looking down at the same place, with his arms crossed across his knees. 

“Loki, this is imperative if you are to get well again,” Eir said. She remained in that position, holding out the paper, for several minutes. Then she set it down on the rumpled sheets. “I can do no more until you tell me,” she said. Then she nodded at Thor, stood up, and left.

Thor waited for another minute, before bursting out, “Loki, you must let us help you! At least tell us who did this to you.” Thor waited again, and the time slunk past. Thor felt his patience grow short in the face of his brother’s stubbornness and pride. “You cannot pretend that you are no longer a part of Asgard!” Thor put his hands on Loki’s bed. “I do not believe that, the Allfather does not believe that, Eir does not believe that, and even you do not believe it. This childish refusal to allow your friends and family to care for you is prideful and stupid!” Thor leaned closer, trying to force Loki to look at his face, but Loki still stared down as if he weren’t there, his lips in a tight line. “I know you do not believe it, Loki. Any son would try to protect his father. I know why you took Sleipnir. It was to prevent the Other from taking Father, wasn’t it?”

Loki’s fist hit Thor’s chest and tried to shove him back. But he didn’t use magic, and it was useless. He had reacted. That meant it was true, didn’t it? Thor didn’t budge. He would force Loki to look at him, admit something, anything.  

Loki at last turned his head, away from Thor, and picked up the paper. Relief flooded into Thor. Loki sat up and crossed his legs, holding the paper in front of him as if he were reading an invisible letter on its surface. 

Then he grasped it at the top with both hands and tore it down the middle. He placed the two sheets over each other, slowly, and tore them down the middle again.

“Loki!” Thor tried to snatch them from him, but Loki held them away, tearing faster, ripping at the multiplying sheets, until the folded the small bits into his palm and balled them up, dropping them on the floor. Then he lay down, pulled the coverlet over him, turned his face away from Thor, and closed his eyes.

Thor threw himself back and collapsed back in the chair he had been using for the past several days, pressing his palms against his eyes. 

Several more minutes passed, and then Thor heard a rustle again. He took his hands away from his eyes. Loki had not moved, but Frigga stood on the opposite side looking down at him, with her hands clasped in front of her. She watched him for several moments before looking up at Thor.

“I wish,” she said, voice quiet, “That I had heard he was awake sooner, before he went to sleep again.”

Thor sighed. He doubted that Loki was truly asleep, but he didn’t say so. He stood up and came around the bed to Frigga’s side. “He refuses to tell us anything.”

“I know. Eir told me.” She put out a hand and brushed back locks of hair away from Loki’s eyes, running her fingers across his forehead, lingering on one of the scars. “He still looks angry,” she whispered. Thor put his arm around her and she rested her head against his shoulder. After a few moments she pulled away, getting on her knees beside the bed and studying Loki’s face. Thor went back to his chair, feeling extremely weary. He propped his head in his hand and watched Frigga watch his brother. After a long time, she whispered, “I’m sorry, Loki.” She kissed his forehead, and then rose and left.

Thor dozed off afterwards, and when he woke again, still leaning with his head against his hand, Loki had not moved, and the room looked undisturbed. Thor sat up straight, rubbing at his face. Something crinkled in his other hand. Thor looked down at it, straightened out the tiny scrap of paper. It held two words, written in fluid handwriting.

**_I did._ **

ɤ

When Thor at last appeared again, he looked more exhausted than ever. Jane set down her notebook and went to him.

“How long has it been since you slept?” she demanded.

“I slept last night,” Thor said, waving her back. “My weariness does not come from sleep deprivation. Here.” He handed her several sheets of paper. Jane glanced at them. 

“What are these?”

Thor glanced to the side as opened the door to the hotel room and poked her head in. “Loki’s description of the events involving the Chitauri, the Other, and Thanos.”  

“Hi, Thor.” Pepper came in, shutting the door behind her. “What’s going on? Here are those numbers, Jane.”

“Thanks,” Jane took the papers and set them on her notebook, rifling through the Loki notes in her hands.

In answer to Pepper, and as a grim announcement, Thor said, “Loki sewed his own mouth shut.”

Pepper’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

“Loki sewed his own mouth shut,” Thor repeated. “He says that the outlaw brands act as a secondary guarding system, keeping him bound to some of his punishments. When he first escaped Asgard, he could perform magic. When I cut the string, he lost much of that ability. He sewed it shut in order to gain his magic back.”

Jane found what appeared to be the first sheet in a chronological depiction of events. She skimmed through Loki’s detailed descriptions of the Other’s (Thanos’s, really) abilities in reality and agreements (his magic-ridden speech was incredibly intricate and full of unfamiliar terminology; Thor had explained it better), and got to where Loki began to describe Thanos’s intentions.

**_It had seemed to me that Thanos would try to use me to get back the Tesseract, and I was right, but not in the way I expected. Thanos’s fury over discovering my condition has made one thing clear to me: he has shown the ability to take over my body, so he must have intended to use my voice in order to manipulate and trap the beings of the Nine Realms into agreements that would give him dominion over what he wished, including the Tesseract. This ability is possibly why he kept the captured Avengers alive; in his hands they could become weapons. I intended to fight him with my magic, but that proved in vain as soon as I saw and remembered who it was I would be fighting._ **

**_When he found that I could not speak, he tried in vain to trade me for the Tesseract, as I had originally thought he would, and then he took me to Midgard to try to stop the destruction of his empire. As his strength had come from his unfulfilled part in the agreement—namely, that he would find me—his finally finding me brought an end to that source of power. He tried to use me in its stead. He emptied my body of myself in order to use me as a pure holding vessel; deprived of my own mind, I became a simple conduit for the magic that he tried to use to hold his empire up. Using Midgardian terminology, I “shorted out” because even I could not handle that enormous amount of magic. (This is why my injuries appeared to come from myself, Eir. They did not; they only came through me.) When that failed, he had no more use for me, so he left me there, unconscious, while he himself fled._ **

Jane looked up as Pepper struggled to clear things out with Thor.

“Okay, I get how he was trying to get his magic back to fight Thanos, but why would he add a virus to it that would kill?”

Thor shrugged. “I know not. Loki said that he was going to try to use the string to stop the Other, but that does not mean he had to use it on himself.”

“But there is someone who can cut it?”

Thor nodded. “There must be.”

“Could it be himself?”

“No.”

“So,” Pepper gestured widely. “Why don’t you just start randomly trying people? You can take us there to try first.”

“Try all of the beings in all of the Nine Realms?” Thor asked. “And beyond? He may have appointed somebody that he met in his other travels. And there are vast numbers who would refuse to even try.”

Pepper pressed her fingers to her temples. “Okay, let me think…who would Loki give authority too…” After a moment she glanced up. “What if he died?” Thor winced. “Not Loki, sorry. But whoever Loki gave authority to.”

Thor looked confused. “I’m—not sure. Since it has only been used in punishment settings before now, the authority always automatically transferred if one became unable to cut it for some other reason, including death.”

“But if it was just a random person, not connected to Loki or punishments itself, there’s no telling to whom it might have transferred?”

“I—suppose not, I’m not the expert on this subject, but—”

“What if he did that intentionally?”

Thor and Jane stared at her. “What?”

Pepper looked pained. “What if he did it this way on purpose? If he knew that it would just bounce off into the depths of the universe somewhere and land on somebody who probably wouldn’t be willing, or that we’d never find…”

“But—why would he do that?” Thor whispered.

Pepper glanced at Jane, back at Thor, opened her mouth, then closed it again. At last she said, “You’ll have to ask him that. He’s the only one who can tell you what he did and why.”

Thor sighed. “But he refuses to speak to me.”

Jane held out the papers. “What are all of these, then?”

Thor glanced at them, disinterestedly. “He refuses to write anything when anyone else is in the room with him. It is only when we leave that he writes. He has refused to engage in any sort of personable conversation, or answer specific questions. Whenever I am with him, he either sleeps or ignores me. He will not even look at me.”

“That won’t last,” Pepper said. “Loki never does something without a reason. And if you can’t figure it out, he’ll eventually tell you. Otherwise there’s no point.”

“Pepper’s right,” Jane encouraged. “My guess is that he’s just scared of being locked up again. If he stays sick, you’ll keep taking care of him. I bet his wheels are turning right now trying to figure out how to get out of his currently-postponed punishments.”

“I hope you are right,” Thor said, rubbing at his face.

“Here.” Jane took his arm and pulled him past the table. “You’re going to get some rest before you go back.”

Thor sighed again. “I told you Jane, my weariness is not from lack of sleep.”

“I know it’s not. It’s from stress. So,” Jane pushed on him until he gave in and sat down on the bed. “You’re going to take a couple-hour nap in a stress-free not-waiting-for-a-change-in-Loki environment. Okay? Then you can go.”

Thor looked up at her with the adorable face of a rebuked two-year-old. Good gravy, she could hardly believe he wasn’t doing it on purpose. “I do not want Loki to think I have left him.”

“Loki can stand a few hours without you. Nap first.” Jane pointed at the pillow behind him. “Your head goes there.”

Pepper smiled and shuffled papers into a pile. “I think I’ll leave you two to hassle this out. It was nice seeing you, Thor.”

“And you, Pepper,” Thor called after her as she shut the door, and then he looked back at Jane. She didn’t give him a chance to protest again, and set her hand against his chest. He sighed yet again and eased backwards, pulling his legs up onto the bed.

“Now,” Jane got on her knees next to the bed and took his face in between her hands. “I know this is hard for you. But it’ll all work out in the end. You’re doing everything you can, and nobody could ask for anything more, Loki included.” She kissed him gently. “Now get some sleep.” She started to stand, but Thor sat up on his elbows and took her hand, pressing it to his lips. Jane laughed, the blush coming to her cheeks, as it always did.

Thor smiled, tiredly, and let her go. He lay down and closed his eyes. Jane went back to her work.

ɤ

“Malibu.” Tony swept his arm through the air for emphasis. “Clear skies, beaches, right up on a cliff-face looking out over the ocean. I’m telling you, we ought to re-locate to Malibu. I mean, hey, it’s kind of nostalgic that we decided to use Stark Tower, ‘cause you know, it’s where we defeated our first arch-nemesis, and it’s all like ‘hey, we should set up here. It’s good for the memories’. But seriously, who does that?”

“I’m sure we’ll be considering that, Mr. Stark,” Steve said in that awful, even, humoring tone, as he stood with his arms crossed next to Tony, waiting.

“It’s kind of creepy, actually. Hanging out in the place your arch-nemesis took a fancy to. But New York is pretty useless now, even though the Tower is of course still standing. The world will be moving on; you can’t have world trade in a place that isn’t standing. I have a house all ready and waiting for us and practically calling our names in Malibu.”

“That’s nice, Stark,” Natasha said, pointedly, as she stood stiffly next to Clint.

Tony ignored her. “It’s much more homey, too. I mean, the Tower is incredibly amazing—I designed it, after all—but it’s like living in a giant luxury office building. And nobody does that, unless you’re some sort of posh hobo. And we are definitely not hobos.”

“Tony,” Pepper prodded his shoulder. “You aren’t nervous about inter-stellar travel, are you?”

“Hm? Me? Of course not. If I were—which I’m not—I would most certainly be in my suit. Maybe I’d better go put it on anyway, though, ‘cause the energy might charge it something fantastic like Thor’s lightni—”

Blinding light, a sensation of wheeling stars that was probably more than a sensation, and Tony’s feet hit something hard and cracked. It was embarrassing, but the next thing he did was stumble forward, staring at the shifting colors in the glassy substance, and stuff his fist in his mouth while he gagged, trying to keep from throwing up.

Strong hands grabbed him and pulled him up right. “You all right?”

Tony took his fist out of his mouth and gave the hands a pat. “Fine. You can let go of me now, Cap.” In reality, it took him several long, hard blinks and deep breaths to calm his startled stomach before Tony was able to focus enough to see a regiment of Asgardians with Heimdall at their head, holding the Tesseract.

“Welcome to Asgard, Midgardians.”

Tony wondered if they were supposed to bow or something. “Thanks?” he ventured, looking around them at the incredible Hubble-worthy sky. “Wow.”

“Thank you,” Steve confirmed. 

Heimdall stepped to the side and handed the Tesseract to one of the soldiers. “They will lead you to Thor.”

“Thanks,” the Avengers chorused as they trooped past him, following the regiment of guards down the long bridge.

“This is incredible,” Jane whispered from behind him. Tony had to agree, and he felt a little irritated at Thor for not bringing them here before. He’d been keeping this prime vacation spot to himself. 

They got to the end of the bridge and entered Thor’s house—aka, the palace to end all palaces. Tony had known before that Thor was a prince, and a crown prince, but it got easier and easier to believe as they went on. This was where Thor had grown up; amid gold-plated walls and hosts of reverent servants who were now peering curiously at them from behind corners. Tony felt like letting out a scream, just to see what their reactions would be, and to break this gosh-awful tension-induced silence. 

At last, Tony saw Thor leaning against one wall ahead of them, next to a comparatively small, plain door. 

“Hey,” Tony called. Thor looked up, smiled, and came forward to meet them.

“Thank you for coming, my friends,” he said, as if welcoming them to banquet. As he stood there, amid all of that golden glory, he seemed suddenly very intimidating, though he wasn’t wearing  his intimidating armor. He had changed into Asgardian clothing, however.

“Now that I know what it’s like, you won’t ever have to ask me twice,” Tony said. 

Thor smiled again and gestured at the door. “Loki is in there. I think it would be best to let you in a few at a time, rather than all at once. He knows you are coming, but it would still be best not to overwhelm him. He still has his magic.”

“You didn’t take it away?” Steve asked, surprised.

“We are unsure what negative effects that would have on him,” Thor said. 

“So basically,” Clint said, dryly, “You’re telling us to be careful because he could kill us with a flick of his fingers. Great, thanks. Good to know.”

Thor looked at him. Tony expected an offended, hurt exclamation. Instead Thor simply repeated, “Thank you for coming.” He nodded to Pepper and Jane. “I think it would be best if you came in first.”

The two women followed Thor into the room. Less than thirty seconds later they emerged, quietly and stood to the side. Tony, his curiosity getting the better of him, pulled Steve forward and Thor let them in.

Loki looked worlds better in the sense that he was no longer covered with blood and goo and no longer smelled like roadkill. But his skin looked amazingly pale and dry, like a redhead who’d spent all their years in a deep, dark cave. Except for the skin around his mouth; it was swollen and dark, patched with blood around the holes. Fresh blood lingered between his lips, and redness spread outward to cover most of the lower half of his face. Loki sat upright on the round bed (Really? Round?), his arms crossed over his chest, an utterly unimpressed expression on his face. He looked skinnier than when he’d shown up at the tower after his six-month fast. 

“Well. That looks painful,” Tony said. One of Loki’s eyebrows arched, and Tony filled in his voice in his head. _Ya think?_ “Okay. Gimme the instruments of surgery.” Tony picked up the scissors that sat on the bed and clamped them over one of the threads, pressing down until one knuckle popped. Loki didn’t look at him, staring instead at Steve who was staring back with the intense I-can-almost-place-something-but-I-can’t-and-it’s-killing-me expression.

“I wouldn’t bother if I were you, Cap. He’s not worth remembering.” Loki raised his eyebrow again. Tony pulled the scissors away. It snagged on one of the threads and Loki jerked. “Whoops, sorry, big fellow.” Loki glared at him. He’d probably never believe him, but it really had been an accident. Tony carefully withdrew the scissors the rest of the way and held them out to Steve. “Looks like I’m not the Chosen One. You have a go.”

Steve also tried, without success, and retreated towards the door. Tony, on an impulse, went back to the bed and leaned over. “You’re being an idiot, you know that? Just tell us who can cut it already. You’re driving your family bonkers. Your dad released a statement to the press and broadcasted messages around the world, begging for anybody who might know anything, or is willing to try, to come here and stop your dying. Did you know that?”

Loki just looked at him, his face changing from unimpressed to impassive.

“I know that look,” Tony said as he went to the door. “That’s the ‘somebody just hit the nail on the head but I’ve got to make sure they don’t know that’ look. I use that look all the time.”

None of the Avengers could cut the string. Their willingness to try had added some pressure though, and a few people were willing to come and try to cut Loki’s string. Not many, though. 

After another week in the hotel, they re-located to Tony’s house in Malibu.

ɤ

Thor wasn’t sure how or why or even when it happened, but Loki suddenly began deteriorating rapidly. He stopped sleeping soundly, and did not truly sleep much at all. The infection at his mouth got worse. He became perpetually feverish. He stopped writing anything, and flinched whenever somebody touched him. He began spending his days flat on his back, in a half-sleeping, half-waking state, and did not attempt sitting up. His weight loss grew worse, no matter how much sustenance they gave him through the stones. 

Thor paced the small room. Frigga, Odin, and even the Warriors and Sif had all come in and tried to get Loki to write to them at some point today. Loki had ignored all of them, with his eyes half-closed, blood slowly gathering on the corners of his lips and slipping down to stain the sheets beneath him. 

Thor was getting desperate. What Pepper had said about Loki hiding the cutter on purpose haunted him. Odin had pleaded with all of the Nine Realms, and some of the best minds of Asgard had tried to decipher who was most likely to have the authority to cut the thread. But now, nobody came in anymore. They had tried everything, and Loki still lay here, apathetic, not seeming to care.

Thor pulled the chair up closer to Loki’s side and sat down in it. He would try once more, he would plead…beg…do anything…

“Loki,” he said. His brother lay still with both of his eyes closed. “This is—I know not what to say, but I ask once again that you speak to me. I’ll not question you about who can cut the thread, if you say you don’t want me to, but—I’ll do anything for you to speak to me.”

Loki remained still.

Thor dropped all methods of calculated persuasion, as a suppressed shot of panic welled up. “Please, Loki,” Thor begged. “I know you are awake. Please, talk to me!”

To his utter astonishment, Loki’s eyes opened and he slowly struggled raise himself up on his elbows. Thor stared for a moment, then snapped to his senses and helped him lean against the headboard, his heart in his throat, praying that Eir and the others would stay out of this room. Hesitatingly, he held out the pencil and paper, and actually felt a little dizzy when Loki took them. Loki drew up his knees and rested the paper upon them, writing slowly with his lids half closed. His wrists looked thin and fragile inside his pale skin. Then, without looking at Thor, he handed it over. Thor’s gaze flickered over the writing.

**_What do you wish me to say?_ **

An open invitation. 

_Say that you are tired. That you wish to come back. Deny what Pepper said. Please._

Thor’s hands trembled in his eagerness. “I want you to tell me why,” he said, handing it back. “You have given us plenty of explanations of what happened, and how it happened, but you have not told me _why._ Why will you not let us help you? Do you not know that you are  dying _?”_

Loki handed the paper back so soon that Thor wondered why he hadn’t answered. But he had, simply.

**_Yes._ **

Thor felt as though a mountain was slowly crushing him. “Did you not give someone the ability to cut the string?”

**_Yes._ **

“Who is he?”

**_He cannot do it._ **

No. No, no, no, Pepper was not right. She was _not right_. “Did you do this on purpose?”

**_Yes._ **

Thor crumpled, his face in his hands. Loki tugged the paper out from in between his fingers, and he didn’t look up until its edge poked him again. Eyes watering, it took him a few moments to clear his vision enough to read.

**_Thor, you great oaf._ **

Thor glanced up at Loki, half-expecting a disgusted, teasing scowl, but Loki’s face remained blank. Thor cleared his throat, and tried to grab a hold of himself again. “What is this sickness?” Thor whispered, half to himself. “Loki, you are sick.”

**_I suppose I am._ **

Thor shook his head in horrified, numb disbelief. “Do you not want to get well?”

**_What good would that do me?_ **

“Do not speak like that!” Thor pleaded, leaning forward. “You were being influenced by Thanos, and the circumstances are not the same—”

Loki snatched the paper back and wrote furiously for a long time.

**_You think that makes a difference? What does it matter how he influenced me? He may have given me the idea to make a bargain with the Chitauri to overtake Midgard, and I may have not come up with the idea on my own, but what difference does that make? It was I who did it. He was not possessing me as he was the Other; I had full control over my faculties. I desired this, and I did it. And are you forgetting my actions before I fell? I still destroyed a Midgardian village and you. I killed you, remember? I threatened the Allfather’s life. I took the throne and attempted to destroy Jotunheim. Any one of those offenses in itself is great enough for death as it is. So what makes you think that Thanos convincing me to attack Midgard in this fashion will somehow miraculously erase what I have done and lighten my sentence? _ **

Thor swallowed and tremored, “Then is this why you wish to die?”

Loki’s eyes narrowed into a frown.

**_No._ **

Thor dreaded this question, but he felt he needed it confirmed. “Do you wish to die, Loki?’

**_No._ **

Relief and confusion crashed over Thor. “Then…why are you doing this? Why kill yourself when you do not wish to die?” The blank expression came over Loki again and he didn’t answer. “Is it true, then, that you will die? Do you have a plan that will prevent your death?”

**_Yes. No._ **

Fear and bewilderment stabbed into Thor’s heart. “Then why—Loki, please tell me. What do you want? _What is it that you want_?”

**_You imbecile, what makes you think I want anything? Why does everyone always assume that I want something? That I only do something for the sake of getting what it is I want? I want nothing, Thor. Nothing._ **

He couldn’t deny it any longer. Pepper was right. _Why?_ Thor couldn’t understand this. 

Loki was going to die. 

Thor felt himself breaking. “Loki,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice stolen from him in a wave of despair, and without thinking he grasped Loki’s hand in his own. He bowed his head. “Loki, what has happened to you?” 

Loki made a strange sound in his throat. 

Thor looked up, and for an instant he was floored by the open, horrified tears in Loki’s eyes. Then Loki’s eyes rolled back, his head thudded against the wall, and his body tensed and trembled.

Thor gasped. “EIR!”

Eir rushed into the room and took Loki’s head in her hands. “What happened?”

“I don’t know, we were speaking to one another—he became upset—”

Eir laid Loki down on the bed, and after a moment, Loki took a deep breath and opened his eyes again.

“Are you all right, Loki?” she asked him. Loki nodded. “All right. Try not to get upset again.” Eir glanced at Thor, and then backed away, leaving them alone once more. 

Loki did not look at him, and Thor struggled to find words to express what had just happened. He could not think of anything profound to say. So instead, gazing at the festering mess that was his brother’s mouth, he said, in the voice of a curious, worried child, “Does it hurt?”

Loki glanced around for the paper, and when he found it, wrote, **_Quite a lot, actually._**

Thor stared at his hands, and asked quietly, “What helps?”

A ghost of a smile flickered across Loki’s face.

**_Cold water._ **

Thor stood up. “I will go fetch some. You rest.”

Loki closed his eyes and Thor left the room.

ɤ

Jane blinked at the long lines of numbers marching across the screen. She stared at them until they seemed engrained in her brain and she could only think in numbers, and when she closed her eyes she saw rows upon rows of numbers filtering in colorful layers through a black sea.

If she actually could build a Bifrost, people sure had better appreciate it.

Drunk Tony wasn’t making anything better. She mostly ignored him, with her chin propped in her hand, and she stared at the numbers. He leaned over a desk, looking on the verge of throwing up, while he recited something slurred but brilliant about vanadium, relativity, sustainability, and Einstein Rosen-bridges. 

“You’re—listen—not, are you?” He grumbled, turning to look at her as he hung upside down.

“Not really.” Jane closed the program. Tony hauled himself upright, and then stumbled over again, letting out a vulgar curse that really didn’t fit with his pleasantly surprised tone of voice. “Tony _!_ ” Jane protested, turning around. “For all the—Sif!”

“Hello.” Sif closed the door behind her.

Tony managed to stand up again, one hand gripping the edge of the desk, and the other flinging the bottle around for emphasis. “Are you finally coming to stay as an Avenger?”

“I’m afraid not.” Sif made a futile attempt at a smile. “Jane, I’m here to ask you to come to Asgard.”

“Oh?” Jane clicked a few buttons, shutting the computers down. “Why?”

“Because—well,” Sif brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “First, you should know it isn’t Thor who sent me to ask you to come. It was Frigga.”

“His mother?” Jane frowned, sitting down on the floor while she pulled her previously-discarded sneakers back on. “Why is Thor’s mother asking me to come to Asgard?”

“Because Thor would not ask you himself. He does not wish to bother you. But…Frigga says that…well, she says he needs you. Or, he will need you shortly.”

“Why?” Jane stood up and brushed her pants free of cookie crumbs. “What’s changed?”

Sif glanced at Tony, who was staring at her a little too obviously. Then she looked back at Jane. “Loki is dying.”

Jane pressed her fist to her lips as her stomach gave a sickening lurch. Tony blinked. “Of course he’s dying, hasn’t he been dying for two months now?” That sounded terrible, but that wasn’t what Tony meant; drunk Tony just was unable to communicate clearly that he really didn’t mean to sound nonchalant. Tony glanced between the two of him. “oh…OH…” he said, and slumped into a chair, the bottle falling from his loose fingers. 

Jane cleared her throat, and took her hand back down. “Now?” she managed.

Sif nodded. “Now.”

Jane glanced around the room, and then went over to the couch and snatched a black leather jacket from where it hung over the back and shrugged it on.

Tony held up a finger. “Hey wait—that’s mine—designer thingummy Pepper gave me for—”

“I’m going to have to borrow it, Tony.” Jane nodded to Sif. “Let’s go.”

“But—hey wait—if Loki’s dying—then—”

Horrible butterflies lurched around inside of Jane. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know what she should do. Thor was about to lose his brother; how was she supposed to—she didn’t know—consol him? What could she do? What should she say? 

She and Sif all but ran through the palace. Jane automatically started to turn towards the medical wards where they had been last time, but Sif shook her head and pointed to stairs. “Up there.”

They went through grand, quiet hallways, until they reached two golden double doors. Sif gently knocked on them, and one silently glided open just enough to admit them. Jane stepped inside after Sif, and after a single glance, didn’t have to have anybody tell her that this was Loki’s room. Books sat on numerous shelves, unmoved, but dusted. The whole room was spotless, the desk neat with a stack of paper and a pen. Preserved for his return, or, as it was now, his death.

Frigga and Odin stood at the head, Thor sat at the near side. Eir and several attendants stood ready and waiting, but motionless. Loki’s breathing rasped, the only sound breaking the silence. Sif went to stand with the Warriors in a corner. Jane felt naked, as her entrance brought the glances of everybody except Thor, Loki, and Odin. Frigga gave her a small nod that Jane interpreted as a thank you. She stepped forward, timidly. Thor’s gaze was bent fixedly on Loki’s face. 

Loki was motionless, perfectly straight and still under the covers where they had placed him. His white skin shone with a thin layer of perspiration. His face turned to the side, towards Thor, his eyes half-open and glistening, unseeing. His breathing came quickly, shallowly, and unevenly. Rough and loud in the dusty quiet of this room. His mouth had still not stopped bleeding. Thor held a bowl of ice water and a wet cloth, and he gently sponged away the blood that continuously seeped from between Loki’s lips. Jane went to him and sat down on the arm of the chair, putting her hand on his shoulder. Thor didn’t look at her, keeping all of his attention on Loki, but he reached up and covered her hand with his own.

ɤ

The young woman sat with her legs crossed, balancing a large bowl of stir-fry in her lap while she switched on the TV. That experience, that invasion, the insanity—school had been knocked off of schedule, again. She basically hid in her parents’ basement for all of it, mostly reading textbooks and not allowing her parents to speak to her about what was going on “out there”, except for the news that the Chitauri had left.

It was all too strange.

So today she finally turned on the TV, and came back into the real world, drinking chocolate milk and eating stir-fry with genuine chopsticks that her friend had brought back from studying abroad.

She wondered briefly if she’d turned it on to a Shakespeare program, but no. She stared at the message, and the reporters analyzing it. How long had—?

That’s what you get for not paying any attention, she supposed. She set down the bowl and leaned forward, propping her head in her hands. Well.

She didn’t feel any sorrow for him. He deserved it, and it was, quite frankly, his own fault. She did feel bad for the guy on the TV right now—whatever his name was—because he obviously was upset. But…she didn’t’ hold any resentment towards him either. Which was strange, because if anybody deserved to be angry, it was her. And she had been. He’d used her, tricked her, killed her loved ones, threatened her life, but she finally, tiredly, was no longer angry with him.

She could ignore this, she knew, but as she stared at the screen, only half-taking in what he said, and the reports talking about analysis about who would fit the bill…

She thought back to those veiled conversations; those dropped hints that had no reason to be made up. And then, suddenly, she saw right through him, clear as the cleanest glass. 

The young woman sighed a little, setting the bowl down and standing up. Dinner could wait. What was she supposed to do, though? Talk to the sky? That was a good a place to start as any, she supposed.

ɤ

Jane rested her cheek against Thor’s shoulder. Most of Loki didn’t change, but his breathing did. It became rougher, more uneven, more frantic, more still. As if his body sometimes forgot what breathing was, and then panicked when it remembered. Every time Loki stopped breathing, Thor tensed. A few hours passed in this way, and Eir stood at the foot of the bed. This absolute, dreadful stillness was hypnotic, and Jane, like Thor, didn’t react when the door behind them opened.

“My Lord,” a servant murmured. Odin glanced up and moved from his place by the bed, going out of Jane’s line of vision. They spoke softly together for a moment, and then Eir left the foot of the bed in response to some unseen signal and joined them.

“Yes, of course,” Eir said, and Odin came back. Jane looked up as Odin touched Thor’s shoulder.

“There’s someone here,” He said to Thor. “A Midgardian woman. She says she wishes to try to cut the thread.”

“With all due respect,” A new voice came from the door, and Jane turned around. A young woman with short, spiked brown hair and stud earrings stood in the doorway, wearing a worn yellow t-shirt and jeans. “I know I can cut the thread.”

Thor roused himself, looking around as well. “What? How can you be sure?” Hope lighted in his eyes.

“I know what Loki wants.” The woman came forward. “It only takes scissors, yes?” She nodded to Odin. “I’m sorry, I only saw you on the TV just now. I would have come sooner, if I could…though I might not have been ready for it.”

“What do you mean?” Odin questioned. “What does Loki want?”

“Nothing you can give him,” the woman said. Jane decided she didn’t like her. But if she could cut the string, she wouldn’t complain.

Odin looked puzzled, but he didn’t say anything else. Eir spoke, from the other side of the bed.

“I must warn you, Loki is only barely alive right now. Cutting the string will not instantly heal the wounds it has inflicted; it will merely allow his own magic to defend him from it. But he is so weak now that, even if she can cut the string, even if the magic can ward off the infection, the very strain of the fight will likely kill him.”

The hope dampened in Thor’s eyes, but it didn’t leave. The young woman glanced around at them.

“Do you want me to?”

Odin nodded. “He will die without it. Yes.”

“Okay.” The woman took the scissors from one of the attendants and joined Eir on the opposite side of the bed. She leaned over and clamped them over the string, pushing down hard. Thor’s hand covered Loki’s. The woman grimaced, then leaned over further.

 _Nothing’s happening. She’s gotten his hopes up for nothing_. Jane nibbled on her lower lip, dreading the inevitable hopelessness that would blanket the room again in a moment.

The string let out a spark. After a few more seconds, it snapped. The ends writhed, and Loki’s body heaved itself up. Loki’s eyes shot open and he stared blankly at the ceiling, quivering between sitting up and laying down, as if an invisible force held him. Eir grabbed his other hand, and Thor became stiff under Jane’s fingers. 

Loki collapsed backwards and went limp. His eyes closed, his lips parting in a bloody sigh. Eir leapt onto the bed, putting her fingers around his neck and leaning forward, spitting out words in a language that Jane couldn’t understand. Instantly the room came to life, and a line of servants and assistants rushed forward from where they had stood against the walls. Jane cringed as the wave passed her, pressing her against Thor, and then both of them backwards. Thor allowed himself to be pushed backwards, his arm coming around Jane as he stared into the mass of bodies with his mouth open and a wild fire in his eyes. Jane could feel his heart thumping against her ribs and she held her breath, suddenly feeling sick.

Something was wrong.

She looked up and saw that Odin and Frigga hadn’t moved. They stood side-by-side, Frigga looking upwards at the ceiling, Odin staring fixedly at the figures now hidden from Jane’s own sight.

The babble of voices and rush of people racing to and from the room lowered, and ceased all together, the crowd loosening and drawing backwards. Odin’s face was strained.

Eir’s breathing was loud in the silence. She gasped, muttering under her breath, and Jane could just see through the tangle of arms and torsos her shape still bent over Loki.

Then her gasping stopped, and the crowd suddenly disappeared all together, the servants melting away, into the shadows, out of the door. Jane’s head pounded, and she realized she had forgotten to breathe. Eir sat motionless, on her knees on the bed, hands and Loki’s shoulders. Her hair fell about her bowed head. Sweat shimmered on her bare shoulders. The young woman was still there, standing a little apart, the scissors still in her hands. Loki looked the same.

Jane glanced up at Thor’s parents again. Frigga looked confused. Odin did not. He was almost expressionless.

Almost.

A single tear, like the shard of a diamond, glimmered on his cheek. 

Eir raised her head. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face haggard, as if she had just gone into the depths of Hel and fought Loki’s demons herself. 

Perhaps she had.

Her hands slid off of Loki’s shoulders and she slipped off of the bed and stood. “I’m so sorry.”

Jane could suddenly feel her own heartbeat, hammering against her ribcage, bruising her.

Frigga realized next, and she let out a startled cry, her fingers going to her mouth. Thor sat motionless. His arm loosened and Jane automatically slid out of the embrace and stood, her hand going to Thor’s shoulder. She was dimly aware of Eir taking the human woman and leading her, along with all of the others in the room, out, leaving them alone. 

Thor let out a strange sound. Frigga turned and wrapped her arms around Odin. He held her, his own hand covering his face and his shoulders silently quaking.

Thor slowly put out his hand and put if over Loki’s again, a slight frown on his face. Then he set his head on his arms on the bed and began to sob.

Jane suddenly couldn’t see. Blood rushed to her head. She put her arms around Thor’s neck, set her cheek against his shoulder, and watched as drops made dark spots on Thor’s shirt. She couldn’t see, couldn’t speak, didn’t understand. But they were alone in the room, and the royal family of the universe was coming apart.

Thor’s whole body shook, and his cries were like that of an injured child. Jane closed her eyes; leaving them open made them sting too much.

After a few minutes she raised her head and looked at Loki. Before he had been white, but now his skin had darkened to grey. The thread was grey too, grey and dead. She glanced around her. Frigga and Odin clung to each other, both weeping. 

Loki had died before. But now he was with them. He’d been dying for weeks right in front of them. Through desperation, and hope, and fire, until disintegrating completely just as his liberation was found.

Cruel. _Cruel_.

The _idiot_. Why had he done it like this? Jane stood up and circled behind Thor, coming up to Loki’s head. She didn’t know what she was doing until she started doing it. She grabbed a hold of the dead thread and began to pull it from his lips. It was gritty, and sickening, and caught on his skin, but she persisted. 

This was probably how he’d wanted to die. In his bedroom, surrounded by the family he claimed to hate, his brother sponging away at the blood to ease his pain as much as he could. 

Jane pulled the last of the string out and dropped it on the ground. That was much better. He looked almost normal. Without the string, he looked less grey. Less like a corpse. Like he was sleeping. As she gazed at him, her mind going elsewhere—what to say to Thor? To Odin? Frigga? What to do? How could anything go back to normal from this? What the heck was normal, anyway?—she almost felt a sense of relief. Not that Loki was dead, but that—something was finally decided. Ended. Jane sniffed and rubbed at her nose, unceremoniously smearing Tony’s jacket sleeve. She looked back at Thor, and her eyes filled again. His hair hid the sides of his face, and his entire frame continued to shake. She got down on her knees and put one arm around him again, rubbing his back. When she managed to blink her tears away, she looked back at Loki.

He really did look better. Rested, even. The swelling at his mouth didn’t seem quite so prominent. Blood still caked at his lips, slowly drying now that no more leaked out. 

Actually, he almost looked a little flushed. As she stared at him, a little streak of blue crawled up his neck and vanished. Jane gasped, bolting to her feet again. She rubbed her eyes, stared harder. Something almost appeared to be crawling beneath his skin, rippling through it, and he slowly turned a light blue. Jane glanced at the others; she wasn’t going crazy, was she? Odin and Frigga still weren’t looking at Loki, and of course Thor wasn’t either. Jane decided not to say anything as she looked back and Loki’s transformation into a Frost Giant was completed. Of course, that was his natural form, it made sense that he would automatically change back. 

Something flushed at the back of his neck. Then, from underneath his clothing, a soft paleness slowly crept upwards. 

He was changing back. Of all the—couldn’t the magic just decide already? 

This was different. It wasn’t grey. 

Without thinking, Jane’s hand clamped down on Thor’s shoulder. Loki was shifting back, and Jane could swear his eyelids just twitched.

Her voice was gone. Jane opened her mouth, could say nothing, closed it, opened it, rasped, “ _THOR!_ ”

Thor slowly raised his head. Frigga and Odin untangled from each other and looked at Loki. There was no mistaking the flush now, spreading out and completing the switch-back from Jotun to Aesir. 

Odin stared as if shell-shocked. “Eir.” He didn’t say it loudly, but the door opened and Eir came in, took one look at Loki, and raced to the bedside. She didn’t reach it before something else happened.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised, after watching this switch that obviously wasn’t natural, but when Loki opened his eyes, Jane jerked backwards with a startled scream.

Frigga reacted next, falling onto the bed and swooping Loki up into an embrace. Eir was holding his hand again, pale and astonished.

“This isn’t possible.”

Thor let go of his hand and stood up, his eyes red and face wet, and almost a fearful joy in his eyes. “Loki?”

Loki blinked, face blank, while he looked over Frigga’s shoulder, as if having a hard time processing what was going on. He slowly brought up one arm around Frigga’s waist. He glanced at Odin, and then looked at Thor, and for an instant the mask broke in surprise, and then tears, before freezing again.

“Loki. What—” Eir shook her head, lips moving soundlessly for a moment. “This—you—he was dead. I felt the life leave him. He was dead.”

Loki pulled his hand away from Eir and brought it too across his mother’s back as she wept. Odin came forward then, and put a hand on Loki’s shoulder. Loki visibly shied away, but he couldn’t escape the firm grasp. His gaze lowered and he looked at no-one. Jane heard a sound behind her, and she tore her glance away from the astounding scene. The woman stood in the doorway, looking at Loki, unreadable. She gave a small nod, and then slipped back out of the room.

Frigga at last pulled away. Relieved of his mother’s grasp, Loki fell backwards again. Odin caught him and held him by both shoulders, looking into his eyes. Loki didn’t look back. Odin at last let him lie down once more, and Eir took her chance to examine Loki again.

“What happened?” she demanded. “You were dead, were you not?”

Loki gave a small shrug, and his tongue came out, licking the blood away from his lips. Then, miracles of all miracles, in his usual, dry, unamused tone, Loki spoke. “Evidentially not.”

“Loki!” Thor jumped forward and took his turn yanking Loki upright, more violently than Frigga, hugging his brother to him, beginning to shake again with gentler weeping. Eir leaned backwards, looking irritated. Loki accepted the embrace with grace, patting Thor’s back with a humorless smile. He looked very small, being enveloped by Thor like this. He let out a small cough and winced.

“Thor, you’re crushing me.”

“I’m sorry!” Thor loosened his grip, but he didn’t let go.

“Loki…” Frigga hesitantly reached out and touched his temple. Loki didn’t pull back. “You must be exhausted.”

“Actually—” Loki began, and then stopped short, glancing at Odin. “Yes.”

Thor at last pulled away. “It is good to have you back, Brother!” His face and eyes were red, and he brushed away more tears with the back of his hand. Loki watched him with a slight frown, leaning back on his elbows, and he didn’t answer. Thor laughed, for no other reason than joy.  Jane couldn’t laugh, or even smile. She was too stunned.

“Would you like us to leave so that you may rest, Loki?” Odin asked quietly. 

Loki’s gaze drifted downwards again, and his fingers traced across the green covers. “Yes.”

“We will be near and able to come to you if you should wish,” Frigga said. “And Eir will make sure you are comfortable.” She said that, but she didn’t move, still leaning forward as if she felt the need to memorize his face. 

Loki’s lips twisted. “Yes, I know.”

Odin put his hand on Frigga’s shoulder and they both turned away. Jane hesitated, waiting for Thor. He grabbed Loki’s hand once more.

“I’m glad, Brother,” he said, giving his hand a squeeze. Loki’s lips twisted again, pressed together in an almost nonexistent smile, and he didn’t answer. Thor put his hand back down and backed out of the chamber. Once outside, he grabbed a cloth timidly offered to him and wiped his eyes and face. 

Jane glanced behind them at the shut doors. “He’s scared of going back to prison.”

Thor stowed the cloth in a pocket. “Do you think so?”

“Well,” Jane shrugged. “You would think he’d be a little happier and relieved at being alive, wouldn’t you?”

“Perhaps.” Thor bowed his head. After a moment, he said in a voice almost too soft for Jane to hear, “When I spoke with him, before this, he—told me he did not wish to die, but he acted…careless. He knew he was going to die—or, he believed that he would die, but he did not seem to care.”

Jane bit the inside of her lip and shook her head, trying to sort out through her tangled, confused emotions. A sharp pang stabbed through her insides. She grabbed Thor’s hand. “I’m starving. What do you have that’s good to eat in Asgard?”

ɤ

Loki lay still, weakness invading every pore of his body, his mind racing. He didn’t need sleep—he’d been sleeping for far too long—but he needed to be alone.

He still reeled from waking and finding everybody over him.

_“Did you mourn?”_

_“We all did.”_

Thor had, of course, and he didn’t doubt the existence of sadness about the edges of Odin and Frigga—more Frigga than Odin—but waking to that—the raw—

_“We mourned. Heimdall saw you die.”_

He wouldn’t dwell on it. He wouldn’t fathom it. 

Why was he alive? Wild, suppressed feeling trembled in him that he couldn’t decipher. Anger, but not anger. He had felt contented with dying—no. He had been angry that he was dying, but unwilling to try to stop it. Now, he felt anger at not dying—but unwilling to change that. Something deeper stirred in him, at his core.

Why was he still alive?

_Who had cut the thread?_

It had to be a fluke. An impurity. That somebody other than Thor had even tried was remarkable, but to be able to actually cut—he had been in great pain at the time. He could have missed something.

_No._

He couldn’t have. The bitterness had kept his mind clear. He could remember that; the pool of calm he found in the midst of torture. _He would finish this spell right, or he would die trying._

Loki wished he could examine the thread, but Eir had taken it, and he supposed it had been burned. It must be a mistake. Because if it were not—if it were _not_ …

Who had done it?

He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know. He was afraid of knowing. Because no matter what he told himself, the enormous impossibility of a mistake in the spell meant that it had worked. And his unspoken pact with himself had fallen to the unimaginable route. 

It was better to hover in this state of uncertainty.

And there was something else. Something Loki couldn’t quite remember, hovering against his subconscious like the remnants of a dream. Something that he didn’t begin to remember until they’d left him and he had time to think.

Eir, perhaps because she had been one of the first things he’d seen upon waking, he could remember her the best. He could remember her voice inside his head, urgent and commanding, but he couldn’t remember the words. He felt exhausted internally. He’d wakened in a cold sweat. He’d been afraid. He’d almost died. According to Eir, he had died. Somebody had cut the thread and his magic had managed to pull him back. Impossible, but it had happened. 

Unless there was something else.

Loki couldn’t remember.

ɤ

Thor flew down the Bifrost, landing with a bump. “Wait! Please, wait.” The young woman stopped and turned around. Thor waved back the guards. “Please, I—I wish to speak with you.”

“Sure.” The young woman put her hands in her pockets.

“I wondered—how did you know you could cut the thread?”

“Well…” the young woman rolled her head. “It’s—I kind of knew Loki when you guys were hiding him. Did you know that he was sneaking out at night?”

Thor nodded. “I was told that later, yes.”

“That’s how I knew him. Actually, I only sort of knew him, because he was pretending to be someone else. Earlier when I saw your dad’s message, I thought back to everything that he’d said to me. Even though he was pretending to be someone else, he still said things that…hinted at me, I guess. It all just fit together. Like a jigsaw puzzle.”

“So…you knew him, and you knew he gave you the authority to cut it?”

“Yes, and yes, but they don’t fit together like that. I don’t think Loki knows he gave me the authority to cut it.”

Thor blinked. “But he has to know.”

The young woman shrugged. “Well, you know more about magic than I do. But I don’t think he did. I think he just outlined conditions that someone had to meet before they could cut it. And I met those conditions. I knew that I could cut the thread because I knew what he wanted.”

“Loki told me he didn’t want anything.”

“He didn’t want anything you could give him. See,” The young woman rocked on her heels, looking at the sky. “He tried to take over more than one world, has killed a bunch of people, tried to kill you, threatened to kill me—he’s done lots of dreadful things, and he probably wants lots of things, but before he can get anything he wants he needs something else.” She looked back at Thor.

“Do…” Thor hesitated. “Forgive me for being presumptuous, but do you…love my brother? The…the way a woman loves a man?”

“No.” The young woman shook her head. “I was in love with the person he was pretending to be. But after all of that…no. I don’t love him. I don’t even like him.”

Thor was confused. “Then what…?”

“He wanted to be forgiven.”

Thor blinked. “What? You forgave him? I thought you didn’t care for him at all. And…I…forgive him. Why couldn’t I…?”

“Because you’re not good enough. For him, I mean. I mean…he wanted the forgiveness from somebody who had absolutely no reason to give it to him. You’re his brother. You love him. I don’t. But I don’t hate him either. If he had died, I wouldn’t have felt sad for him. And I don’t really care that he’s alive now. But I can see why he’s done what he has, so I forgive him.”

“I see.” Thor said, even though he didn’t, trying to smile, and held out his hand. “Thank you, again.”

She smiled back, taking his hand. “You’re welcome.” She started to turn.

“Wait. What is your name?”

She glanced back over her shoulder. “Meg McCoy. But I’d rather you not tell Loki. I don’t really have a great desire for him to hunt me down and try to figure out why I was able to cut it.”

“But what do I tell him when he asks?” Thor couldn’t imagine making a convincing enough lie that didn’t give her name away.

“Just tell him the truth. That ‘they’ asked you not to tell. They wanted to remain anonymous.” She winked, and continued down the Bifrost. Thor turned back.

ɤ

“When did he last stir?”

Eir, the silent, constant presence in this room, answered, “Not since you left him.”

“For that long?”

“He isn’t sleeping, if you wish to speak to him.”

_Damn you, Eir._

Without opening his eyes, Loki said, “I did not say I needed sleep, only rest.”

“Thank you. Leave us, please.”

Loki’s hands rested clasped across his stomach. He waited, having no intention of initiating or cooperating with whatever discussion the Allfather was about to begin; sending Eir out of the room, and bringing no-one in with him, signified that.

“Are you well?”

Loki sifted through his choices in his head. He could say nothing, ignoring the Allfather entirely and winning without playing—this was definitely the most attractive choice—, he could be angry and bitingly sarcastic, going on the offensive to tear the Allfather down, or he could go the subtler route of defiance. One that Loki had chosen when he first returned to Asgard. In the cell he had been angry, and when he couldn’t speak—ignoring naturally became the most practical.

But here, his walls were weak and trembling, and Loki was confused. But he couldn’t let that show; he couldn’t play the disobedient child, because Odin would crack him open.

Indifference then. Loki kept his eyes closed. “Obviously no,” he said, “But if you mean compared to being dead or dying—yes, I am doing quite well.”

“And your voice?”

Loki internally winced. _What?_ The _audacity_. His voice grew tight. “You could say the thread is to my voice as ice is to Captain Steven Rogers. It suffers no long-term ill effects from being frozen.” If he had been in the Avengers Tower, that quip would have made Tony Stark snicker.

“That is good.”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “Why? Does it matter? It is soon to be bound again.” Even as those words slipped out, Loki’s throat constricted in a reflexive attempt to block foreign magic from his voice.

“Loki, open your eyes.”

Loki wanted to disobey. But no, indifference. It shouldn’t matter to him whether or not his eyes were closed. Loki opened them and looked up into the Allfather’s face. He didn’t like this position, being flat on his back with the Allfather standing—not over him, but near him, looking down. He raised his eyebrows again.

The Allfather flickered his gaze away. “We will be re-convening to decide what to do with you.”

Loki shrugged. “And?”

He looked back at him. “Do you not remember the lines given at the verdict? _‘These punishments will remain in place permanently, unless there is such a time that you are deemed worthy for them to be removed or changed.’_ ”

Loki laughed quietly. “Are you saying that my acts of self-preservation in regards to the Chitauri and Thanos will somehow keep my voice free?”

“There will be discussions of your intentions, in regards to Midgard, Asgard, and Sleipnir.”

Loki stopped laughing. “What of it? Even if those are in my favor, the past is unchanged.”

“On the contrary, the past is very much changed. Thanos—”

“Thanos was not controlling me,” Loki interrupted. “My actions stand as my own.”

“You may say that, the council may not.” Odin’s tone of voice stayed even, almost bland. “In direct control of you, no. But through manipulations, he planted an idea in your head that without him would never have come to fruition. Without him, you would not have had the capacity to grow that plan.”

Loki looked past him, at the ceiling. “You don’t know that.” 

“You said in your writings to us that he gave you the idea in the time you spent with him, and then he wiped your memory and sent you to the Chitauri. As it was a recent thought implanted upon your mind, you proposed it to the Chitauri.”

“Yes, but I still proposed it. It was a marvelous plan,” Loki said dryly. “I would have come up with it or something similar on my own.”

“Perhaps you could have, but you didn’t.”

“Given the time—”

“What were you thinking when you let go?”

Loki’s words tangled in his throat and he fell silent. 

“Did you intend to seek out a means to take revenge on the Nine Realms?”

Loki didn’t answer. He tasted blood on his tongue.

“Did you think that you could concoct a way to navigate through the emptiness of space without being torn apart in order to find yourself in a world of resources?” Odin shifted forward, but Loki still stared past him, jaw locked. “Why would you give the thread…that particular authority?”

“That” particular? What did Odin know? Loki struggled to control his own blood supply; he needed to stay calm. Not flush. Not grow pale. In a steady voice, he said, “It seemed that a random—” 

“Was it random?”

“Well, I would have to tell you that, now wouldn’t I? No one else’s guesses will suffice.”

“And if it was random, why? Why would you not want us to cut it?”

Loki drew his gaze away from the ceiling and fastened it on Odin’s eyes, speaking in a low voice. “Please be frank. What are you suggesting, Allfather?”

Now that he had Loki looking at him, Odin leaned back. “Only that your bravado and well-spun anecdotes are not leaving as complete a picture as you might hope.”

Loki smiled. “So, now I am an innocent? What I did before I fell no longer matters?”

“Those actions are not as large of an indictment as you think,” Odin said. 

Loki laughed again. “Try telling that to Asgard and Jotunheim.”

“They were actions with grave intentions, poor judgment, and unintended consequences, that reveal even more about yourself than your decision to sew your own mouth shut, if possible.”

“Well, I am sure they will accept that explanation,” Loki muttered.

“It matters not. Asgard and Jotunheim are not the final word on your fate. I am.”

“Yes, I had forgotten. That is very comforting, since you are the one who handed out my last one. Without a single hitch. It was like a storyboard. Excellent poetic justice, and marvelous rhetoric to go along with it. I meant to compliment you for it afterward, but I’m afraid I was a little indisposed.”

“Your punishments were to protect others and yourself from yourself.”

“Ah, I see.” Loki spread his hands. “And my capabilities have been altered…how?”

“Not your capabilities, your intents.”

“Do continue; this journey into my own psyche is quite fascinating.”

“You escape your prison, and where do you go? Nowhere. You run. You stay away from people. You do not seek out Thor, I, or anybody else. You leave Asgard.”

“It would have been quite easy to recapture me if I had simply gone to visit the Allfather for a friendly chat.”

“But you didn’t care about recapture, did you?”

“Oh, of course, I didn’t. You are absolutely correct.” Loki now felt thoroughly disgusted, and he didn’t hold back on his sarcasm. What ridiculous claim was the Allfather getting at? Of course he had.

“Before you fell, you did not care about getting caught and punished. Thor exposed you to your mother as having taken advantage of my sleep and Thor’s banishment, yet you openly attacked him, and then left to destroy Jotunheim despite the obvious indictment that was against yourself.”

Loki spoke through gritted teeth. “Indictment for what?” 

“Indictment for maliciously orchestrating events and situations that gave you the control with which you could use to play with the Nine Realms for your own satisfaction.”

Loki tried to think backwards. Tried to remember what he had been thinking. Tried to reason with himself. Yes, Thor back, but Laufey had still tried to kill the Allfather. That was reason to take action against Jotunheim, wasn’t it? Severe and inappropriate, perhaps, but nobody could accuse him of malicious intent for that.

Odin was still talking. “And despite the fact that Thor’s return meant that Heimdall had broken free of your casings and could testify that you were the one who brought Jotuns into Asgard.”

Loki’s mind reeled, and he stared at Odin, face hard, without speaking, because he couldn’t think of words to speak. Yes…he could remember realizing that. He could remember being aware that his cover-up was crashing down around him. But he had been furious, and also very aware that he still had the power to do what it was he had wished to cover up. No, he hadn’t cared about the consequences. He’d only thought of the goal. 

Loki tried to remember what Odin and he were still talking about. “And how does this pertain to my current situation?”

Odin explained calmly, his gaze fixed on Loki. Loki withered under it, like a sprout under strong sunlight. It would kill him. “Before you fell, and afterward, when you were free, you stayed to your intentions of hatred, revenge, and desperation when you were able, without thought to the consequences. You were free when you escaped your cell, yet you took no malicious actions. You had already shown yourself to not care about the consequences, as long as you could accomplish what you wished, so the only explanation for a change in your actions is a change in your intentions.”

Loki blinked. He wanted to will himself to look away from Odin, to break that intense gaze, but he didn’t have any will left. He couldn’t event think straight. He struggled to sort it out. He was the Silvertongue, not Odin. He was supposed to be able to twist reason to obey him. This shouldn’t make sense. It should not.

Lost. If his intentions had changed, then what were they now? Fury ate at him, wishing to strike out against Odin. He would not become confused now. He would not. He could not afford to. The Allfather was wrong.

As he stared up at Odin, something occurred to him. Loki’s skin went cold. “You did it.”

Odin nodded. “Thor spoke to me about his concerns for you. How you seemed distressed and afraid of something beyond Asgard.”

Loki struggled to sit up, staring at the Allfather. He didn’t have any sarcasm or biting tones left, for now. “You did it. You let me escape.”

Odin nodded again, letting him absorb this. The utter fool.

“Why?”

Odin suddenly sat down in Thor’s chair by the bedside. “I knew the conditions of the brand, and the ill effects of the chains and the cell. The only lives you would endanger, if you intended to endanger any, would be those of myself and Thor.”

Then, thank the heavens, thank the Norns, thank the Valkyrie, thank all higher powers that be, his anger returned. Loki sat bolt upright with a rush of strength. “You used me. You used punishments. You beat me down in order to _test_ me.”

Odin said nothing.

“You sucked every living thing out of me, brought me to my lowest and drove me away, forced me to endanger my own life—you struck me down to the lowest capability of protecting myself and then _threw me out_ to face the thing you suspected that I feared? In order to _test_ me? So that you could comfort yourself in knowing that your lies did not utterly destroy me?”

“I had Heimdall watch you for as long as he could.”

“Yes! Thank you! And that worked out _marvelously_ , did it not?” Loki spread his hands out, laughing. “Did you feel any guilt when he told you that you had killed me?”

“He never said that you were dead. He only told us what he saw. We both knew you to be alive and hiding, somewhere.”

“Thor really needs to learn to stop jumping to conclusions.” Loki laughed again, wildly. “To him, I have died three times now.”

“But you are alive now.”

“Is that supposed to comfort me?” Loki threw back the covers and slid out of bed. Odin rounded it at incredible speed.

“Loki! You should not st—”

Loki slumped back against the wall, holding one hand in front of him, palm outwards, stopping Odin in his tracks. “I would not touch me if I were you, Allfather.” The magic responded, resonating in a strong current within him, wisping weakly about his fingers. Loki sighed and pressed his arms to the wall, eagle-spread, lifting his face as he felt it curl about him in a cooling, calming, gentle wave.  “Have I passed the test, Father?” Loki whispered, eyes closed, smiling. “Am I to go free because I did not start any wars anew?”

“That depends.” Odin retreated to the door. “On several factors. But some who do not merit mercy receive it anyway.”

Loki’s smile slid further open. The door closed. Loki sank slowly to the floor and fainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 15,000 words! Sorry/you're welcome (depending on your opinion of long chapters).
> 
> Next week: Loki is lost.


	14. Stand

Loki sat in his armchair, at an angle to the fireplace, with a book on his knees. His own. Copied passages, scattered word-equations, bursts of thought. To another magic-user, it looked like sophisticated jibberish, or perhaps to an advanced user, the edge of insane brilliance. To Loki, it looked like himself. It held his magic and his mind; he had used this when learning to cast doubles of himself, to experiment with different magic on his knives, to teleport, to transverse multi-dimensional pathways. The worn, soft pages whispered against his fingers as he turned them, reading, but not absorbing. He had all of this memorized, learned a hundred times over. 

_Perhaps I may smuggle this in when I return to my prison._

This was wishful thinking. If he was to have it, they would need to give him permission. Loki traced his fingers across a side-note on the illusion of touch. 

He could escape, if he wished to. It would just take a smaller matter of illusions and lies to slip away unnoticed, and it would take only a few well-placed conjured knives to escape by force. They hadn’t taken his magic; he didn’t understand why. Since he was back in Asgard, the outlaw markings allowed him his magic and his voice at the same time. But Odin had not ordered them to take his magic. Probably because of Loki’s ‘change of intentions’. Loki glowered into space before returning his gaze to the book.

He could escape. But for what? To be deprived of his magic or his voice would be torturous. He would gladly escape with just his voice, if he must choose—staying here meant the loss of both—but his subsequent loss of magic would make his continued freedom from Asgard difficult.

 Loki turned to a blank page in his book and picked up a pen on the side-table next to him.

**_Danger makes it strong. Escape is possible, but plagued with gambles. How can one know when magic will respond? What may instigate it? Fear? Capture? Torture? Death? Is it only after the consequences are immediate? Sewing one’s mouth shut forces it into obedience from one’s own terror of what worse may follow?_ **

**_And what is fearful about imprisonment? One’s mind only stays alive when one has something for it to feed upon. No fear of outside consequences, no escape, no second chances. Living is only living when one is aware of it. How does magic respond if the mind is gone?_ **

Loki stopped. He had never kept a diary, and what he wrote he wrote in veiled references. His privacy was important to him; important enough to not risk anyone else finding his thoughts. He kept them inside himself. His gaze went to the fire, and then back down. He left the remaining space blank and went to a new page.

**_The Allfather believes himself to finally know me. How strange, because I am constantly changing. I would think that he should learn to not base his assumptions on a single moment in time. I may escape if I wish, but I do not. Escape would be another form of imprisonment; the Allfather knows this, even though he does not know me. He has left my magic and my voice unhampered, and only leaves me under watchful guard in my own quarters. He wishes me to escape; he thinks me unknowledgeable about what that would do to me. He does not imagine that I already know there is no escape, except one. My two other attempts have failed, so I believe I shall let him simply do it himself. I don’t know why I was so blatant earlier when blatancy is unnecessary. Blatancy is always unnecessary. Subtlety is always the better route._ **

**_He thinks me defeated. Redeemable. I am not. I am angry, and vacant. I care not who ‘wins’. And I want nothing. Literally, I want nothing. And nothing I shall get. And by the time he realizes that his own game is pointless, it will be too late. He shall be unsatisfied, and I shall be neither satisfied nor unsatisfied._ **

**_I am Loki Silvertongue, the God of Mischief and Lies, and I always win. One way or another, I win. Even when I care not._ **

Loki tore the page out of the book. He held it in both of his hands, blew on the ink to dry it, and then wreathed his fingers in green fire.

“What are you doing?” the guard by his door demanded. Loki didn’t look up.

“Burning this,” he said simply as the fire began to consume the paper. He watched as his words crackled and disappeared from existence. He brought his hands closer together, cupped underneath the paper to catch the ash. The fire diminished into nothing. Loki poured himself a glass of water, sprinkled the ash into it, and drank it. In Loki’s peripheral vision, the guard stared at him with a bewildered, revolted look on his face.

Loki finished the glass, swallowed a few times to get rid of the taste, and then grinned at the guard. The guard’s gaze flickered away with a shudder. 

Movement from outside the door. The guard turned and eased it open. Loki tensed, jerking his gaze back to the fire, refusing to stare. Only after the door closed again did he look up. He jerked to his feet, out of both habit and something akin to alarm. 

“Hello, Loki.” 

Loki didn’t respond, standing there in front of the seat while Frigga’s gaze wandered about the room. He put his hand on his book as it sat on the table.

“Odin and Thor are with the others now,” she said after a moment. Loki jerked a nod. He knew.               

“Why—” He had to swallow to make his voice work right. Frigga glanced at him as he spoke, and he looked away. “Why are you not?”

“I would rather be here. Do you mind?”

“It hardly matters,” Loki muttered, fingering the cover of the book.

“I will leave if you ask me to. But I would rather you not.” Frigga extended her hand. Seeing her intent, Loki withdrew his own before she could touch it. He left the armchair went to the opposite side of the mantel, leaning his arm against it, and watched the flames again. Frigga seated herself, hands folded, also looking at the fire, with occasional, lingering glances at him.

“Allmother,” Loki said at last, pushing himself away from the mantel and forcing himself to make eye contact. “Why are you here?”

Frigga looked at him for a long time before turning her head back towards the hearth. “Because, Loki,” Her voice descended into a whisper. “I fear that you are going to leave us.”

ɤ

Thor clenched his hands tight around each other, sitting tense, teeth gritted, and doing his best not to jump up or appear too anxious. 

The tones were calm and wise; thoughtful and respectful. But the very air began to feel heavy and thick with tension. In the small room of gold, the Allfather, his eldest son, and their councilors deliberated. 

“With all due respect, Allfather,” Torketill leaned back, shaking his head, silver hair waving gently. “There is no way to tell his intentions. What you say may be correct, but is it worth risking more lives and wars over speculation?”

Volstagg’s father, Dagvarr, leaned forward. “And we cannot ignore the political repercussions; Jotunheim in particular will see this as disregarding the injuries done to them.”

Thor couldn’t stop the words that rose to his lips. “And yet you disapproved of my own banishment.” Odin glanced at him, as did the others, but said nothing. When no one responded, Thor continued, speaking softly and calmly with an effort. “I was the one who stirred up ancient anger when I went to Jotunheim.”

A third noble cleared his throat. “Yet it was Loki who prompted you to go there in the first place, was it not?”

Thor tensed once again. “Whether he wanted me to go or not, it was still my decision. I wished to go.” 

“A decision you would not have made, and would not have had the opportunity to make, if Loki had not—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dagvarr interrupted. 

“He’s right,” Torketill tapped his fingertips together. “The danger in letting Loki roam free once more is that his behavior is sporadic. His actions have been heedless and needless and without a clear motivation, other than a jealousy and revenge. His own mind conjures his reasons, and there is no root cause to trace. There is nothing to say that he will not decide to take action once more, even if he is at a calm state now.”

“That is not quite true,” Odin said. He had not spoken for a long while now, and everyone else went silent, waiting for several moments before he continued. “Loki did allow the Jotuns in to attempt to steal the Caskett—a useless endeavor, as it was proven—out of a combination of jealousy and worry for Asgard. However, his more—drastic actions were prompted by a discovery he made soon afterward. He learned something about his past that upset him greatly, and caused him to become furious and confused. He took that anger out on me, using Thor and the Realms to do so.”

Dead silence, and the council stared at Odin. Sweat gathered on Thor’s neck. They hadn’t told. They hadn’t told anyone in Asgard. A few of the Avengers knew, because Thor had explained out of obligation and necessity—but nobody in Asgard other than Frigga, Odin, Thor, and Heimdall knew, still. Not even Sif or the Warriors knew. Would Odin…?

A fourth spoke. “May we inquire what—?”

“That is Loki’s affair,” Odin said. “If he wishes Asgard to know, then Asgard will know.”

“How do we know that this anger will not erupt again?” Torketill asked, his face measurably impassive.

“We do not,” Odin said, simply. “But his actions speak otherwise. His anger was directed at me before, yet he did nothing against me when he could, and he protected me by taking Sleipnir. In addition, he caused no harms when he resided on Midgard, actually befriended at least one woman, risked his own life to rid the Realms of the Other and the Chitauri, and—without reason—healed the Midgardian woman Natasha Romanov of a deadly Chitauri battle-wound.”  

Nobody looked convinced. 

“And still,” the third spoke again, “Optimistic speculations do not equate the safety of innocent lives.”

“And still,” Odin looked at him, cutting him short. “I banished Thor, and none of you approved of my decision. I know my sons.” He stood. “Thank you all for your time and insight.”

He ended the meeting. 

ɤ

_Loki knelt on his heels in front of the fireplace, moving his hand from side to side. The flames bent and flickered in time to his movements. Loki felt their heat against his skin, their wild, hardly contained energy pushing at the parameters. He pulled his hand back, still feeling the excitement tickling his palm, and remembering what Alvis had told him. The natural world was not his strength, but he was still capable—still had the potential of creating something out of seemingly nothing._

_Loki squeezed his eyes tight, struggling to use the magic to ignite the oxygen above his hand. He sat so still that heat flushed through his tense body. Something snapped, and Loki’s eyes popped back open. He stared in awe at the single tongue of flickering green flame hovering in midair above his hand. It only lasted a second, and then went out. But he’d_ done _it! He’d actually created something, instead of just manipulating! Loki kept his eyes open this time and it reignited for another second before going out again. Loki grinned, getting to his feet. When he got more practiced, he should be able to do much more with it, such as creating Cold Fire, like Alvis had shown him. Loki hauled his door open and scampered down the corridor towards Thor’s room. _

_“Thor!” he fell against the door and shoved it open, holding out his palm and struggling to make the fire again. “See what I can do!”_

_“Why do you not knock?” Thor snapped, and Loki stopped short. Thor sat on his bed, armed with a cloak and belt, pulling on his boots. _

_“You never do,” Loki quipped, letting his arm fall back to his side. He glanced over his brother’s apparel. “Where are we going today?”_

_Thor made a funny little coughing sound in his throat as he laced the boots up. Oh. Loki scowled, and then sighed, running a hand through his hair to slick it back._

_“Are you still angry with me for catching your trousers on fire?”_

_Thor didn’t answer. He stood up and stalked towards the dresser, his frame causing a breeze as he passed Loki. He picked up the short dagger—not a throwing knife—that had been gifted to him several days before; one of a pair._

_Loki crossed his arms. “You do not wish me to go, do you? You did not ‘forget’ last time, you just left me, didn’t you?”_

_“Loki,” Thor grumbled. “We have always gone places together for years.”_

_“We’re brothers.” Loki scowled. “Of course we have.”_

_“Then why do you complain so about staying behind?” Thor faced him. “Why can you not give us some space? You enjoy being by yourself anyway, practicing magic and reading. It seems you should be able to leave me and my friends alone!”_

_Loki’s mouth dropped open at this declaration. “’Space’?” he repeated, in incredulous anger. “They are my friends too! They enjoy my company, even when you do not.”_

_Thor shrugged. “They are polite. Of course they never say so.”_

_Loki’s eyes widened and hands balled up into fists, so angry that he couldn’t speak. He watched as Thor pushed some coins into his pocket and went towards the doorway without a second glance._

_“Just as well, then!” Loki burst out as he left. “Go on without me! Such a mood will make all of your friends miserable, and I would much rather stay here than bear your insufferable temper!”_

_Thor didn’t look back, and Loki was left standing in the middle of this brother’s room. He stamped one foot to the ground, grasping at his hair as he growled out a quiet scream. He turned in a full circle, then went and shut the door. He strolled to Thor’s dresser and picked up the other dagger, fitting it in his own belt under his shirt. Then he climbed onto Thor’s stony bed and sat in the center with his legs crossed, chin propped in one palm, and practiced lighting fire with his other._

_He spent several hours in his brother’s room like that, and got to where he could light a flame within a minute, and keep it flickering for several seconds. His mind wandered to what the others must be doing. They had probably gone out to the outskirts of the city, if they had brought a few servants with them, or else they were on the far reaches of the palace grounds, building imaginary forts and training. Sif was probably dressed as a boy today, more likely than not, or wore her hybrid male-female outfits with skirt and trousers both. Her hair might be bound back, in one tail or two, or perhaps tied tightly against her head with a few obstinate curls falling out. Loki liked it best when she left it free, but it usually got in the way, so she rarely did. But when nothing bound it, it flowed and seemed to glow, soft and tangled. Her eyes were always filled with light, and she laughed often, looking everywhere and at everyone but—_

_Loki shook himself and slapped his own cheek as he stood up with a sigh. He trudged towards the door, pausing by the dresser and pulling out the dagger. He held it over the wood, his hand wrapped around the handle, intending to set it down, when something else flashed into his mind._

_The others returning, Thor and Sif at their head. He had been angry about being left behind, not paying attention to what it meant, but seeing them laugh together, close together._

_Loki’s grip tightened and he returned the dagger to his own belt and left the room._

_He fought with the hard knot in his throat all through the afternoon until evening came, and then he ventured back to Thor’s room. He paused outside, surprised by the sounds coming from insides. It was Thor, in a rage. Shouting and growling to, bumps and bangs._

_Loki pushed the door open and poked his head inside. “Thor?”_

_“Go away, Brother.” Thor turned and kicked viciously at the leg of his bed. Loki disobeyed, slipping the rest of the way inside and shutting the door. Thor had called him brother; he was not angry with him at the moment. _

_“What’s wrong?”_

_“I do not wish to discuss anything with you,” Thor snapped, hollering with combined rage and anger as his hand punched the curved metal of the walls. And then, all the same, without looking at him and still punching and kicking, “Sif—she dares—her pride and condescension—she has skills and does not care who she insults—embarrassing—and then she goes and blames me and when I correct her she lashes out—her self-important haughty conceit—”_

_Thor wasn’t looking at him, so Loki quietly set the dagger back in its place on its dresser, then leaned against the dresser with his hands folded in front of him._

_“I have done much for her, yet she hates to admit it and does not care—does she not understand that friends may do things for friends and it is not a matter of honor—what is wrong with her, the stupid girl? She is the only girl I have befriended, yet if all are this infuriating—when she acts this way—what is wrong with me?” _

_Loki stared in astonishment as Thor sat down on his bed and leaned over, burying his face in his arms. He watched for a moment, and when Thor didn’t get back up, he went closer. Thor didn’t make much sound, but his quick intakes of breath told Loki that he wasn’t mistaken. Loki sat down on the bed, sudden, putrid disgust and anger stirring in him towards Sif. Nobody could make Thor cry; at least not in front of Loki. Nobody would want to. Stupid girl, indeed, to break his brother down like this. Thor was gracious, kind, and—a bit arrogant at times, but still—he was Thor. What had she said to him? Wretched girl._

_Loki put his hand on Thor’s back and waited a few more moments. Thor sat up, looking down, and tentatively held out an arm. Loki mirrored the gesture and they embraced. Thor’s flushed face was hot against Loki’s neck. Then Loki pulled away and Thor scrubbed his face dry on his sleeve._

_“Come now, Thor.” Loki held his brother’s shoulder, trying to give an encouraging smile. “Warriors do not cry.”_

ɤ

Loki turned his head to the side as he lay on his back, habitually stroking the silky bedspread beneath his hand. His eyes drifted open.

A knocking on the door. Loki sat up, crossing his legs and straightening his clothing as the guard opened the door. He stopped breathing for an instant when Sif entered. He slid his legs over the edge of the bed and stood. Sif crossed the room and stopped several feet away, arms, crossed, looking him up and down as if inspecting an item for quality. He looked back, letting her do it, and fighting the mixed curiosity and irritation that grew inside of him.

At last Sif took a step back and looked him in the eyes. “Did you miss us?”

The question took him off guard. “Did you miss me?” he countered.

Sif tossed her hair, like she had thousands of times before. Loki felt sweat on his neck. “If you don’t wish to admit it, what about your family? Thor? Asgard? This room? Your home?”

“I don’t waste time pining for things that are not my own.”

Sif’s mouth worked in a circle, pondering, as she stared darkly at him. “Do you wish to go back?”

Loki folded his arms, fighting the urge to look away. “I don’t wish to return to ignorance.”

Sif looked at him a while longer, and then sighed and turned away. “Loki is gone. Come on.”

Loki didn’t move. “I beg your pardon?”

Sif waved a hand as she headed toward the door. “You are to come with me.”

From where he’d buried it ever since waking up in Asgard, a seed of dread churned in his stomach. “Where?”

Sif tossed a disgusted glance over her shoulder. “Don’t be stupid.”

Loki knew full well where she was supposed to take him. He half-leaned, half-sat against the edge of the bed. “Why you?”

Sif pushed out her words in a rushed, automated manner. “Because you ought to know that a friend would not lead you to your execution.”

Loki raised an eyebrow and smirked. Sif stood at the opened door and set her hands on her hips. “Are you coming, or am I going to have to drag you?”

“That won’t be necessary, darling.” Loki stood up again, ignoring the infuriated contortion of Sif’s face and walked past her out the door. 

Sif caught up to him and walked at his side, setting a brisk pace. She walked with her shoulders thrown back, head held high, hair bouncing against her back. Loki walked just as fast, but leisurely, less purposefully, being continually distracted by the familiar murals and engravings on the walls that brought jolts of memories. 

If he wanted to escape, this would be the ideal time to do it.

He didn’t.

 _Friend._ How uproarious.

He began to have flashes of déjà vu as they drew closer to the same courtyard from what felt like ages ago. Loki didn’t flinch at the sounds, but he slowly curled one finger and dug his nail into his palm.

ɤ

Thor’s stomach churned as he stood apart from his father, to the side with the nobles. Odin hadn’t said a word to him since the meeting; or to anybody, really. He and Thor had both left soon afterward, and Odin had met secretly with the leader of Jotunheim’s shaky provisional government, setting up a temporary non-aggression breather, with developing conditions.

The people had gathered as before, bunched together in the open air. The feeling was different though; unsure. Everybody knew that some things had changed, and Thor couldn’t control his hope. He never could. Loki teased and scorned him for that, his incurable, senseless, hope. 

Mjolnir hung heavy and firm in his hands, lending him a sense of confidence. He wished Loki had a similar thing to grasp.

In an eerily similar repetition of past events, the Asgardians present swelled and muttered, quieting, then rising again, in a living wave of scorn and uncertainty. Loki and Sif stood at the side door. As they came around, to the area in front of Odin, the only different about the scene was Loki himself; unbound, unguarded, walking with a friend, the deep scars shining blindingly blue in the sunlight. 

Then the reactions of the people were different than before, because they quieted without Odin rising. Sif went with Loki to the center of the clearing in front of Odin, and then left him there alone as she stepped to the side and stood with Hogun. He had returned with Thor and Odin, and Fandral and Volstagg had stayed behind, as the Asgardian commanders worked to keep the non-aggression pact steady while Odin returned to Asgard to deal with Loki.

Thor tried to give his brother an encouraging glance, but Loki didn’t look at him. He stood straight, his arms loose at his sides, head raised, and his lips almost curved in relaxed nonchalance. 

Thor knew his brother well. Had he looked tense and cunning, it would have meant that he was ready to fight for his life. It would have meant that he felt the same as he had the last time.

This meant the same as despair.

 Odin rose and opened his mouth to speak. But Loki spoke first.

“Before we begin, Allfather, I have a request.” Thor flinched. His voice rang out surprisingly loudly, in a technical interruption that, legally, should have been struck down instantly. But nobody stopped him. Loki spoke quickly, devoid of emotion. “Last time, you omitted any last name of mind from the proceedings. You told me it was because you did not know what name I wished. You told me that my desires mattered. I know not if that is still true, but if it is, I have made a decision.” 

Silence. Thor’s heart rose into his throat, pounding there and cutting off his breath. Odin nodded. Loki gave him a smile that held no life. “Silvertongue. It is what I have always been, and what I will always be.”

Thor gritted his teeth, struggling and probably failing to keep his emotions from showing. Everybody remained silent. Loki still didn’t look at him. Odin hesitated, and then nodded. Loki smiled again, briefly, and bowed his head, shocks of his black hair falling about either side of his face in a shielding curtain.

Odin began then. “Loki…Silvertongue. You have been brought here today for a reassessment of your actions against Midgard, Asgard, and Jotunheim, and thus a reassessment of the punishments that lie upon you. First, it has been shown that your actions against Midgard were not conceived yourself, but planted in your mind by another individual, known as Thanos, and his accomplices, the Chitauri race. This rendered you a willing instigator, manipulated at a time of vulnerability.”

Loki, his head still bowed, narrowed his eyes a touch, but said nothing. Whispers.

“Second, it is known that your actions against Jotunheim and myself were brought on by a shock that I will not explicate here, unless you wish me to.”

Odin paused, and after a moment, Loki glanced up, jaw tight, and then looked back down. Odin continued.

“Your escape from Asgard indicated more than any other thing that your intentions had changed, as you took no malicious actions against anyone, including myself or unspecified Midgardians with whom you made contact while on Midgard. Furthermore, once Thanos made himself known, you decided to harm yourself in order to be rid of him, instead of recruiting help through a variety of options that were open to you, such as communicating indirectly with Asgard. Your intellect and manipulations know no bounds; that you chose no routes that would have likely saved you pain is astounding. You instead decided on a plan that, as proved through your own writings, you fully believed would kill you.”

Thor expected Odin to add that Loki desired it to kill him—why else not indicate who could cut the thread?—to illustrate his pain and mad despair that had lead to his actions, but Odin did not. 

_He has suffered enough humiliation._ Thor thought. _Father is protecting his pride._

“In addition, for no clear reason, you saved the life of the Midgardian Natasha Romanov from a Chitauri-induced injury, who is one of the Midgardians you attempted to hurt when you first went to Midgard. You also attempted and succeeding in saving the lives of countless Midgardians by warning them all to abandon their city and not to engage the Chitauri. You intended to allow the Other—or as we know now, Thanos—to capture you so that his agreement would be fulfilled, and his power to build that city gone. Its collapse, you knew, would kill anybody inside. You expected it to kill you; or if not, you expected the Other to take your life.”

Odin paused. The crowd had started murmuring, in a hushed, disapproving, hardly audible tones, prodding each other, simultaneously angry and confused and indignant. Loki was tense. His arms and hands still hung loose, but his shoulders and back were rigid. He slowly raised his head, and Thor’s stomach dropped at the sight of the calm fury burning in his eyes. 

Odin didn’t seem surprised. “Do you wish to explain your actions, Loki?”

It took a long time, but Loki’s lips finally parted and he said, almost snarling, “Natasha Romanov—I simply could not bear the tedious idiocy of mortal medicine.”

Thor blinked. Was that it? He expected a tirade or nothing at all. But Loki didn’t say anything else, standing stiff with his mouth clamped shut.

Gungnir changed hands, and Odin went towards Loki. The murmurs stopped immediately, and Loki’s eyes widened. Odin stopped a few paces away, and his voice became soft.

“Loki. It was said at the inauguration of your sentence that your penalties would remain in place permanently, until such a time that you were deemed worthy for them to be removed or changed.”

Loki’s eyes cleared of the anger, and Thor stopped breathing as it was momentarily replaced by terror.

“I have made a decision on that point. I would make changes, with some conditions, if you should accept them.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed again.

“All of your previous punishments would be removed. You would be free to speak and have full control over your magic, and the freedom to go where you will.”

Loki’s lips twisted. “And the conditions?” he hissed, his voice floating on the whisper of a breeze that almost vanished before it reached Thor’s ears.

“First, naturally, you must not harm anyone or cause trouble. You must not hide yourself from Heimdall, and must not go near any significant place of government without sufficient accompaniment, or specific permission. This would be your new sentence, and it would remain on you until such a time that you are deemed worthy for them to be removed or changed.”

Thor’s blood pounded in his ears. He couldn’t imagine how Loki managed to look so calm. This was _his future_ that Odin was offering him. Thor focused all of his attention on his brother, ignoring the increased indignation that began emanating from the crowd.

“Should you breach any of these conditions,” Odin continued. “Your previous penalties would be imposed on you once more, and it is highly unlikely they would ever be removed again.” Another pause. Loki continued to stare at him, expressionless. “Do you accept these conditions?”

Thor couldn’t breathe. He should, he must, he would…but he may not. Suicide and despair and—why wouldn’t he? Why would he? 

Loki broke eye contact with Odin, and his head dipped forward. Odin came closer, stopping directly in front of him. Long moments passed. Thor, unable to read his brother’s mostly-hidden face, fixed his eyes on his father instead. After a long time, Odin’s shoulders twitched. He lifted one hand and briefly touched one of Loki’s forearms, making Loki flinch back, and then he turned and walked back to his original position in front of his chair. Loki lifted his head, looking dazed. Odin looked out over the crowd, and spoke in a hushed, ringing tone.

“Loki Silvertongue has accepted the conditions.”

Thor gasped, not from surprise, but from a mixture of relief and a need of air after holding his breath for so long.

 Clear anger washed through the air, but Thor didn’t care, and for a moment he couldn’t see. He managed to clear his vision with a lot of blinking, and accidentally locked gazes with Sif. She sent him a glaring warning, ‘For Norns’ sake, do not break down now.’ 

He didn’t. He felt numb, scoured out, and—too numbingly relived to feel anything that might lead to tears. Odin seated himself again and waved to an attendant that stood near with a glass of what looked like water. The attendant brought it to Odin, and Odin briefly put his hands on it. The attendant went forward, dipping a brush in the glass, and hesitated as Loki looked at him. The attendant glanced back at Odin, and then went closer, pulling the brush from the glass and running along the grooves in Loki’s face. Instantly, the scars shone brightly, sending out beams of blue light, and Loki cringed. Then they faded and, starting from where the brush had touched, went out and vanished. Thor stared in awe as they faded, vanishing in a wave down his neck, then his hand, and presumably the rest of his body. After a moment, Loki cringed again, bending over, with one palm pressed against his temple.

Then he slowly straightened, still looking dazed, and deadened. Odin nodded to him, and spoke in a low tone that Thor couldn’t hear over the angered noise in the crowd, but he read his father’s lips.

_“You may go.”_

Odin then ran his gaze over the crowd and it hushed. Loki stood there, looking at nothing and no-one, awkwardly.

Why didn’t he move?

Everyone stared at him, and Loki finally glanced up, directly at Thor, with the same vulnerability Thor had seen in the wreckage of New York. 

Without thinking, he immediately went forward. Loki didn’t look at him again, but with Thor at his side, he turned and went through the pathways that parted for them both, hurriedly, arms at his sides. Even after they left the courtyard, Loki didn’t slow, didn’t speak a word, and simply fled away with Thor beside him, until they reached Loki’s room. Loki then stopped and, still without looking at Thor, said “You may leave me here.”

Thor blinked, relieved at his brother’s freedom, but worried at his reaction. “Are you—”

“Certain.” His gaze downcast, Loki slipped inside the room and shut the door in Thor face. A green haze flickered over the handle and banished. Thor tried the door without hope, and found it, as he expected, magically bolted. Thor ran one hand over the wood.

“I will return here periodically, Loki,” he spoke through it to his unseen brother. “I will knock once when I do.” Thor rapped once as an example. “Admit me whenever you are ready.”

Thor waited in vain for an answer, and then left, fleeing to his own quarters; which doors he locked un-magically. Then, and only then, did he allow himself the emotion that he had kept beneath the surface through the entire ceremony.

ɤ

Loki lost count of the days. He saw no-one, and heard almost no-one. Thor probably came every day, but sometimes Loki heard the knock, sometimes he didn’t. He paced, flipped through books without trying to read any of them, lay on the floor, lay on the bed, stood in the middle of the room, looked at himself in the mirror—though he couldn’t bear much of that. The brands were gone, but light scars remained—common disfigurations, impossible to be mistaken for the brands themselves, but impossible to miss as the aftermath of the brands. They wouldn’t go away. They could be covered with magic though, unlike the brands, and Loki did so after a single glance at his face. 

They left food and drink outside his door—probably Thor’s doing, possibly Odin’s or Frigga’s. Loki ignored it at first, and then some days he ate, some days he didn’t. Some days he didn’t remember eating, until he re-discovered the half empty tray at some place in his quarters, which he’d put back outside, and then re-lock the doors. 

He didn’t feel anything, because he didn’t have the capacity for any emotion left. Only after countless time, did he finally begin to have hints of emotions left, which he did his best to keep carefully organized and buried for later examination.

Here he was; free, mostly. Not really; he should still be angry about that, but he didn’t feel angry. He obeyed, anyway, and didn’t use his Heimdall invisibility. He didn’t like this lack of privacy, but reminded himself that he was one of the very few people who could truly have privacy; everyone else in the Nine Realms could be spied upon by Heimdall if he so got the inkling. 

Then, finally, one morning Loki sat on his bed, watching the light from the sun rise, mixing with the nebulas and stars in the sky, turning a spectrum of colors, and then clearing into radiant day. Loki looked around his room, and felt trapped.

The next hour was a strange flurry, as he went through his belongings, digging up old, forgotten treasures which he discarded back into their proper places to be forgotten again.

He was standing next to his balcony door, leaning against the wall and staring outside when Thor’s knock on the door sounded. Loki dropped the lock.

Thor pushed the door open and closed it behind him. Loki locked it again. Thor stood there for a moment, and Loki kept his face turned away, gazing at the outdoors. Thor ventured closer, until he stood next to him, also looking out.

“Loki?”

“Hello, Thor,” Loki said, shifting his gaze to the Asgardian’s concerned face.  

“Are you all right?” Thor held his gaze.

Loki shrugged, looking back outside. “I have had better days. But lately I have had much worse.”

Thor relaxed a little, smiling. “Do you…” he began, and then stopped and a long silence stretched between them.

“I wish I could step out,” Loki said, gesturing at the balcony.

“But…but you can!” Thor went forward and put a large hand over the handle. Loki held out an arm and stopped him. “You can do almost whatever you like, Loki, you know that, don’t you?”

“Yes. But I cannot,” Loki said. “Legality is one thing, perception another.”

Thor sighed. “It doesn’t matter what they think, Loki.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“Things have calmed down. Especially since you haven’t—well, done anything, and—Jotunheim is being negotiated with. Things do not look so bleak.”

“Jotunheim?” The name brought bitterness onto Loki’s tongue. “What negotiations could possibly satisfy it?”

“Some of them have to do with you,” Thor admitted, “But they also have a great deal to do with the Casket. With Laufey—gone, it is possible they are willing to vie for peace, and Father is speaking with them about a path that would lead to their repossession of the Casket.”

Loki curled his lip. “Is he mad?” 

Thor looked at him with surprise. “I think not,” he said, a little harshly. “My point is, there is nothing to prevent you stepping out on your own balcony!” Thor crashed a fist against the doors, making them rattle. Loki winced. He reached up and brushed his fingers down his skin, releasing the spell. Thor jumped.

“Oh! Is that—I thought—”

“These are permanent.” Loki said, and reinstated the spell. 

“You needn’t hide them.”

“I realize that.” After a moment of silence, Loki turned around and knelt next to his bed. He reached under it and pulled out a bag used to carry essentials on hunts where horses were not involved. Loki stood up and set it on the bed, its cloth obviously taunt with contents.

Thor blinked at it for a moment, and then let out a cry. “Loki! You need not leave!”

“Don’t you start,” Loki said, but Thor ignored him.

“Truly! I know this is all strange, and much has changed, but need not have changed so much that you leave! Asgard is your home! You need not—”

Loki shoved at the bag in anger, straightening and facing Thor. “Thor! Do you wish me to tell you the truth?”

Thor quieted, eyes large and worried. “Yes, of course.”

“Very well. Here is the truth. You said yourself that much has changed. Things can never go back to the way they were before—everything happened. I do not belong here.” Loki gestured at the outdoors. “No, do not interrupt me and protest. Listen. I do not belong here, nor anywhere else. You wish me to be honest? I haven’t the slightest idea who I am. Loki Silvertongue. What is that? I have to leave. I have to get out of here and decide what it is I must do next; I need to leave and discover who it is I am now that I am no longer a son of Odin.”

“I think you are,” Thor said, weakly. Loki just looked at him. “Perhaps you feel you have to discover it for yourself, Loki, but—that does not mean you have to leave Asgard to discover it!”

“You did,” Loki said, simply. “Would you deny me what it took you to learn who you were?”

Thor looked at the ground. “No. And—of course you are free to go where you will—”

“Excellent,” Loki said dryly, and he took his knives out of the bag, buckling them to his belt, and then slid the strap of the bag itself across his shoulders. New panic came into Thor’s face.

“But—you are not—not now, Loki!”

“Yes, now,” Loki said, irritated. 

“But—Mother and Father—”

“You may tell the Allmother and the Allfather that I said farewell, if you wish,” Loki said.

“But—”

Loki looked at Thor’s despairing face and laughed. “Norns, Thor, you act as though I am disappearing forever.”

Thor looked as startled at the laugh as Loki was. “I fear that may be the case.”

“It is not,” Loki rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Thor! The ideas you get!”

Thor bit his lip.

“Anyway,” Loki tightened the strap against his body and strolled over to his wardrobe, where he took out his cape and fastened it over his shoulders. “You have been staying here partly on my behalf. The faster I leave, the faster you can return to Midgard. Yes?”

Thor smiled, hesitantly. “Barring any mishaps with Jotunheim—I—suppose—”

“Then you should thank me.” Loki went back towards him and pulled back a tapestry from the wall, feeling the magic curl about him in a wave. He sighed. It was good to be back.

“But where will you go?” Thor queried.

“I don’t know,” Loki admitted. “Anywhere and everywhere, I suppose. Where else?”

“But Midgard, sometimes?”

“Possibly.” Loki held out a hand, merging the magic of the portal with the magic leaping off of his skin.

He flinched in surprise as two arms suddenly pulled him away, wrapping him in an embrace, the tapestry falling back into place.

“Thor,” Loki snapped, but Thor ignored him, and Loki didn’t struggle. Thor released him after a long moment and pulled the tapestry up for him. 

“Be—safe, Brother.”

Loki indignantly straightened his clothing and held out both of his hands, straightening a pathway. “Safe, Thor? Do I need to remind you exactly how I got the reputation of the God of Mischief and Chaos? Safety is dull.” Loki laughed again, and the last thing he saw was Thor’s face, first shocked, then confused, and then softly amused, smiling.

Loki pulled the portal to himself and stepped forwards.

 

 

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But not really.
> 
> Because what would a Marvel fanfic be without a post-credits scene and sequel?


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to call this chapter 15/14, but it wouldn't let me. Phooey. So just pretend that's what it says. Humor me. ;)

_Thanos felt their confusion running in currents around him. But he just sat and smiled. Because he knew that the Other’s words, however the creature had interpreted them, had an entirely different meaning; one that was still true._

_To challenge Earth was to court death._

_Funny how their fear of him remained strong, but sometimes their curiosity ran stronger._

_“No,” he said out loud to their whispered questions to each other. “No, I am not angry.” Thanos paused and they fell silent. He grinned again and ran his tongue along the backs of his teeth. He could still taste it there, lingering in the air against his tongue. People wondered why he was fascinated by death. He used to wonder it himself. But by now, it had a taste to him, smooth and tantalizing. How could he be angry with the Silvertongue? He was as helpless now as he had been in Thanos’s company. Why did Thanos leave him? Because he had learned that the Silvertongue was much stronger than he had thought. The Silvertongue had fought back in his mind when his body was gone. The Silvertongue was special. The Silvertongue would be of much more use left to his own devices than as Thanos’s puppet. Thanos  was not finished with the Silvertongue. And that was why he had saved his life. Thanos enjoyed death, but he wasn’t about to let his favorite pet die without his permission._

_The Silvertongue was not safe yet, and the Silvertongue knew it. The Allfather did as well. Death’s taste was fragrant. Pain’s was sweet. The Silvertongue had yet to learn that._

_The chaos of everything existed just beyond sight. Thanos could feel the wavelengths and grooves in the breath and space of time. The universe existed as a web of woven threads, with the Silvertongue at the center._

_It took only a morsel of schooling to learn how to make him dance._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End, for real this time. (EEEEEEEE!!! There's a little checkmark instead of a red circle! *flails*)
> 
> QUESTION FOR READERS:  
> As you may already know, I have two more fics planned for this series. Unfortunately, I have extremely little of either of them written. This fic’s first draft was completed by the time I began posting it. I would like to get your guys’ opinions on how you would like me to go about posting the next addition. Would you like me to make some headway on the writing before I begin posting it, so that I can release chapters frequently, or would you like me to simply post as I write, with the frequency of updates at the mercy of writer’s block, “real life”, and plot changes? (It took me about a year to write Shadow, with a couple of months of nonactivity included.) If I can remain dedicated, I could probably manage to update a couple times a month with option 2, though the chapters would probably be at least half the length of the chapters in this fic.  
> Please let me know what you would prefer in the comments below. They might not affect my final decision, but I’d like to know. :) 
> 
> Either way, I’ll continue to write one-shots and other fics.  
> Thanks to all of you for your lovely enthusiasm and support! Love you all! <3  
> ~caramell


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